To Catch A Thief, by Kenzlin Chapter One
by kenzlin
Summary: AU, no powers. 1950s, Monte Carlo. Clark -retired WWII hero - saw opportunity to help others, by stealing from rich. He is single country gentleman, who may be missing something…or someone in his life. Lana is rich, and soon to meet Clark.
1. Chapter 1

This is AU, Clark has no powers. The story is set in the mid 1950s, principally in Monte

Carlo, playground of the very rich.

Clark is a retired WWII hero in the French resistance, who as the war was drawing to a

close saw an opportunity to help others, and admittedly himself, by stealing from the rich

and sharing his spoils.

He has since retired, living the life of a single country gentleman, with his villa, his

gardening, fast cars, similar women, a cat named Noir, and a subtly nagging thought that

he is missing something…or someone in his life.

Lana Lang, and her aunt Nell had come into an enormous some of money from the shockingly pleasant surprise of finding oil on their farmland. So, money was no concern, but navigating the gigolo infested waters of Monte Carlo was a challenge for 27 year old

Lana. And meeting Clark, aka The Cat, did not seem to offer a solution…at first.

Adapted from the motion picture screenplay by John Michael Hayes. Directed by Alfred

Hitchcock.

**Chapitre Une**

A single ray of moonlight falls between the drawn curtains, illuminating a long

rectangular shape on the expensive rug. Resting on the top of a finely crafted vanity is

an open jewel case lined with black velvet. Nestled inside is a collection of women's

jewelry. There are necklaces, bracelets, rings, wristwatches and an expensive

assortment of emeralds, rubies, diamonds and sapphires. They are in a random

arrangement, as though the owner had just taken some of them off the night before and

had been too tired to put them away in a place of safety.

Slipping through the shadows is a shape that stops in front of the jewelry display. A pair

of black-gloved hands is revealed by the shaft of moonlight—with expert dexterity, the

hands remove the jewelry from the case, depositing it in a soft satchel. The dark shape,

with feline grace, quickly turns and noiselessly makes it way to the window, steps onto

the balcony, and reaching above the window, it seems to disappear into the night.

Bright sunlight nudges its way into the well appointed hotel room. This light is in sharp

contrast to the silent moonlight of the night before. Across the room is a middle-aged

woman. Her face is covered with night cream to help her retain youthful skin elasticity.

Her nearly black hair, her naturally grey well hidden, is tied up in a chiffon scarf. She has

immaculately maintained teeth, which are easily seen in her wide open, screaming

mouth. Still screaming, as she looks down at the empty jewel case.

Clutching her robe around her full figure she begins running around the room in a

helpless panic. She sees the open French windows leading to the balcony. She dashes

out through the window doors, into the sunlight, needing to tell someone.

She leans over her fourth floor balcony rail and starts to scream to the world at large.

Beyond her is the whole curving sweep of the sea-front at Cannes. The mid-day

pedestrian and car traffic is heavy . Some of the passersby turn to stare up at her.

The woman shouts down to the street, first in French and then switches to English.

Au secours! Appelez la Police! On m'a volé mes bijoux! On m'a volé mes bijoux! Help!

Call the Police! They stole my jewelry! 

Later that day, as night falls. A darkened room in a different hotel has a night-time visitor.

A dresser drawer is silently opened, offering a glimpse of another collection of expensive

jewelry. The same two black-gloved hands move in, and they scoop up the entire

collection of jewels.

The next morning one of the hotel windows is thrown open as a woman's scream is

heard in German: Mein juwelen! Mein juwelen! Ist verschwunden!

As the sun brings light to this third theft we see the comings and goings of the police.

as they enter the expensive hotel located on the sea-front at Nice.

On the third consecutive night there is a black shadow stealthily moving across a slate-

tiled roof in the moonlight. An enveloping darkness shrouds this hotel room, as the

moonlight is less so tonight. The back of a woman's head rests on a fluffy pillow, snoring

gently. A pair of black-gloved hands skillfully slide under the pillow, and reappear with a

suede bag. The hands open the bag which contains an assortment of brilliant jewels.

The black shape moves with cat-like agility across the hotel roof.

Early the next morning. The facade of this elegant hotel has one of its many windows

thrown open. And from the window is heard a long, hysterical scream.

Across town, Lana Lang is lying on an ornate chaise lounge on the balcony of an

expensive hotel, one bedroom slipper dangling from her small foot. The pink peignoir

she is wearing is open and not covering her shapely lightly tanned legs, leaving them

bare to catch the morning sun. Holding her porcelain coffee cup in one hand, her hair

cascading to her graceful neck, she bends the newspaper she's reading to get a better

look at the article on "Le Chat".

She reads of the recent wave of bold, night time robberies:

'Today's date, "The Paris Herald Tribune". The leading paragraph is in a Chloe Sullivan

Column. The column suggests that the famous, supposedly retired jewel thief called The

Cat—or, as he is known in France, Le Chat—has now become active again on the

Riviera.' Lana is interested to learn that this series of stealth crimes bear The Cat's

trademark style of never being seen, never hurting anyone, but yet getting away with,

what is rumored to have been a small fortune.

She continues reading, 'It was thought that he had reformed after becoming a hero in

World War II, helping to spirit many refugees to safety. Apparently, he has decided not

to let well enough alone and has come out of retirement.'

Lana takes a small sip of coffee as she reads that 'It has been reported that the local

police had adopted a live and let live attitude toward Le Chat when it appeared that he

had withdrawn from the world's stage, that he was no longer a menace to society. "That

attitude may now change, "said a member of local law enforcement.

Lana considers this The Cat character for a moment, allowing that he sounds interesting,

with the possibility of his having just a smidgen of gentleman thief charm. But, she's

certain that he will turn out to be an over-the-hill, ex convict with the wear and tear and

brutal attitude to prove it. She wonders what kind of person has the audacity to steal

from people while they are peacefully sleeping in their room? It is so easy to romanticize

exploits like this when there are certain to be some very crass motivation behind them.

Motives that usually involve drugs, loose women, gambling an extravagant life style, or

all of these.

She muses aloud, "Can a person like this be anything but a scoundrel, the dregs of the

earth?" _But, what if this one were different. _She thinks, quickly dismissing the thought.

"What's that Lana, are you talking about another of your charming dates from hell," said

her elderly aunt Nell, walking out onto the sun-drenched balcony, as she tries to rub the

sleep from her eyes. She quickly bends and kisses her niece on the cheek and turns to

get herself a cup of coffee from the carafe.

"Morning, Nell, did you sleep well, " a small smile on her face as Lana well knew that

Nell had drunk just a wee bit too much last night, as she was being regaled with stories

of adventure and romance by two of the aforementioned poor royalty. The two

gentlemen in question were in fact quite charming, with many amusing anecdotes to

share. However, it was clear to Lana, that their principal interest in Nell was the interest

on her principal

"I slept like a befogged log, dearest. What's that you were talking to yourself about just

now?"

"This article about this famous, or infamous, jewel thief. He apparently has just come out

of retirement and taken up his midnight crawls again, stealing jewelry from rich,

eccentrics like you."

Ignoring the 'eccentric' remark, Nell says. "That's probably what you need, Lana, a

dashingly handsome, gentleman thief to visit you in your boudoir in the hopes of

ravishing you, "a knowing smirk on her face as she reached for a croissant. "It might be

worth a few of your baubles to find a man you think worthy."

"Nell, you are too kind. But, I am quite capable of finding my own visiting a$$holes, as

my last 4 or 5 dates will attest, without the need to resort to dipping into the pool of

common thieves. I mean, where are all the interesting gentlemen…who are in fact

gentlemen, I ask you?

"Is that a serious question requiring an answer at this ungodly hour, or are you simply

venting your spleen?

"Hmm…more the latter…but if you have an answer I'd be willing to hear it. And, by the

way, this ungodly hour is nearly 11AM. So nice of you to join the living, auntie,"

exchanging smiles with Nell.

"…lucky I got up now, as my body was requesting another hour. But, speaking of the two

royal gentlemen last night…one was a count and the other a duke, I think, Nell added."

"And lord knows I have seen quite enough of the inbred stupidities or avariciousness

amongst the impoverished royalty here in this town, those two were a perfect example.

Do you not realize that they hope to marry you, or god forbid -me, for our money," she

said, with a small sigh of exasperation.

Nell and Lana had, just three years ago, come into an enormous some of money from

the shockingly pleasant surprise of finding oil on their farmland. The oil find quickly

awarded them a multi-million dollar buyout, with the deal including a monthly dividend

that was ten times more than the average American's salary. So, money was no

concern, but navigating the gigolo infested waters of Monte Carlo was a challenge for 27

year old Lana Lang.

Although her aunt thought she was watching over Lana, protecting her from the cruel

world, in fact it was Lana's modestly cynical outlook that had kept both of them out of

serious situations.

Had Lana not one penny to herself she would have still been compelled to turn away

suitors, as her charms were many. Most recently she had put behind her the dire

flirtation she conducted with her weight, allowing it to dwindle to what Nell called the

"scary bones" stage. Too many angles and lines to best complement or lithe, petite

figure. She had somewhere picked up the absurd notion that she was carrying around

too much adipose. Something, at the time of this supposed excess, many men would

have prostrated themselves to have simple seen, much less touched.

Being the bright young lady that she was it soon became apparent to her that she looked

best, indeed felt best, with a couple of pounds less than her 'baby fat' weight. Once she

regained, what was a very modest amount, weight that was advantageously distributed

by nature art over her body and face, the attention of men increased.

She had the kind of beauty that did not vanish with the clothes or setting or weather,

remaining constant. But, like the well crafted setting for a precious stone, even natural

beauty can be enhanced.

And so, yet another cliché was debunked as she had realize that in fact you can be too

thin…but…perhaps not too rich.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapitre Deux**

Within the opulent environs of Monte Carlo is the gloomy, formidable building that

houses Police Headquarters for Nice. There is a smartly dressed, uniformed guard at the

double doors, scanning all the people coming into the building. All morning long the

guard, and his brothers in arms, have been seeing police officials coming and going,

with the occasional snatch of conversation heard as they passed him. Invariably the

words were about 'that damned Cat', or 'we need to put him in a kennel', and 'something

must be done before the filthy rich tourist trade decides to go elsewhere'.

Now, the guard notices a large official car waiting by the curb with its motor running, the

doors open on the side facing the building. The guard quickly moves aside and comes to

attention as four serious looking men in civilian clothiers emerge from the building,

walking briskly down the steps. The guard recognizes one of the men as Chief Inspector

Lepec. He is the largest man of the four, with a high, receding hairline over a face

shaved so closely that he appears to have a mild sunburn. Accompanying Lepec, are

three other men who quickly enter the police car with him. The doors slam shut

simultaneously and the car moves into the main thoroughfare. Accelerating away from

the curb, it is soon lost in the stream of traffic.

The police car with Lepec and the original three men and a driver is briskly making it way

up winding roads. The driver is expertly and quickly negotiating the turns, all the while

muttering unintelligible comments under his breath. The view in front of the car offers a

breathtaking, panoramic view of the mountains behind the French Riviera. None of the

five men seem interested in the view, their faces somber, waiting. The engine of the

police car labors up a steep section in the road.

Were any of the four men to look out at the view they would see mountains beyond–and

the snow-capped peaks in the distance. Far away to the left, a villa sits atop a small rise.

It is about two or three miles away from the car. At that distance the villa appears small,

almost like a child's toy. This is their destination.

In minutes the police car will reach the villa and the five men will be greeted by a

stunning array of blooming flowers and well maintained topiary, elegantly surrounding

this restored 19th century villa.

But now, in this quiet interlude before the car arrives, the front door of the villa opens.

Germaine, a middle-aged, portly housekeeper, with her hair tied up with a scarf, comes

out to the front steps. She looks out at the sunlit day, briefly turning her face up to the

sun with a welcoming smile. Then, admonishing herself for being lazy, she violently

shakes out the dust cloth she'd brought with her. She turns and goes back into the villa.

Walking into the large, airy foyer she makes a sharp right turn into the living room of the

house's owner, Clark Kent. As she continues her cleaning and dusting she move though

this spacious, attractive, masculine room, carefully, lifting and replacing objects and

collectibles. She handles some of the items, a select few souvenirs of Kent's war time

experiences, in an almost motherly fashion. It is clear she holds these objects in high

regard, as she does their owner.

The room is indirectly lit with sunlight coming through the skylights. Now, only a warm,

subdued light paints the room. The room reflects the interests of its owner. It is lined with

many books, a small grouping of them placed in casual disarray on what appears to be a

working table. Clearly these tomes are used, consulted by their owner, as they are

festooned with bookmarks, holding places of interest. Many of the books are on art,

history and horticulture. On the book shelves there is a section that has apparently not

been used in awhile, as there are no markers, and they are all closed and neatly

shelved. These consist of quite detailed profiles of many wealthy visitors to and citizens

of Monte Carlo, France and most of Europe.

The walls of the room hold a few good oil paintings strategically placed to gather the

best indirect light, to avoid the fading affects of the sun. There are several vases with

freshly cut flowers in the room.

As the housekeeper continues with her dusting she comes to an armchair on which

there is Noir, a sleeping black cat. The cat is lying in a very proprietary manner on a

folded newspaper.

The housekeeper looks at the part of the newspaper text that can be read without

moving Noir, which shows a title, "The Paris Herald Tribune". It is open to the leading

paragraph in a Chloe Sullivan Column. Gabrielle reads the column, which suggests that:

'…the famous jewel thief called The Cat—or, as he is known in France, Le Chat—has

now become active again on the Riviera. He had been recognized as a hero in World

War II, striking at the Nazis in many covert, elusive ways. His actions had enabled many

dozens of lives to be saved, at continual risk to his own. He repeatedly frustrated the

Nazi efforts to apprehend other resistance fighters, as well as himself. At one point in the

last year of the war he was the most wanted man in German occupied territory. His

capture would have resulted in a brutal death for him.'

Now that Noir has rolled over, thanks to Germaine's gentle poking, she continues to read

–'His efforts forced the Germans to dedicate a significant amount of German troops and

investigators, not to mention the dreaded Gestapo agents, to his capture. The uncaring,

ruthless math of war tell us that if these forces were chasing Le Chat then they would not

have been able to contribute their gruesome efforts to the war.'

'Despite the obvious good will his past actions have engendered things appear about to

change. There had been an unspoken understanding that were he to retire, to stop his

police befuddling thefts then the local authorities would decline to pursue the matter.

Now, that delicate balance as been upset as he apparently has decided not to let well

enough alone.

Just as Germaine finished reading this section, letting out a disapproving 'humph' for the

article, the cat's paw sleepily reached out, stretching its claws, and tears down through

the center of the column. She smiles at Noir, "you are quite intelligent Monsieur Chat".

Outside the villa, in the plush garden, Clark Kent is peering closely at one of his rose

bushes, casually holding pruning shears in one hand. Moving a branch closer to his

face, he snips a dead bloom off the bushes. At last, he smiles as a pleasing symmetry is

attained. His is a deceptively young face for one that has survived many close calls, both

legal and less so.

Clark Kent, who will turn 33 in April, is today dressed in casual jeans and a denim work

shirt, with laced work boots. In his usual, more formal, attire, his powerful physique is

barely concealed by the artful tailoring designed to make him looks less formidable.

Now, as he bends, stoops and stretches to attend to the needs of his garden it would be

apparent to any observer that this is an agile, athletic man, with a dancer's control of his

body. Completing another snip of the shears, he stops. His head comes up, listening, as

the faint whine of an approaching car reaches him. Some instinct honed by many war

time close call's informs his actions as Clark's head begins to turn suspiciously toward

the sound.

_Hmm…not expecting guest today…this can't be good._

Inside the living room, the large, lean Noir, who had been curled peacefully on the

armchair seat raises its head as though it too senses something disturbing in the air.

Clark, still holding his pruning shears looks out toward the approach road. He can see in

the distance beyond the garden, the far, winding mountain road on which a tiny

automobile is quickly moving toward the villa. A light cloud of dust billows behind it.

Clark studies the oncoming car for a moment. He take a deep breath and releases it,

then turns back slowly to snip off another fading bloom. He pushes a stray lock of dark

brown, nearly black hair back on his head, and then casually glances out toward the

road once more. He turns and makes his way back to the villa, passing through the

French windows, into the living room.

He crosses the living room, stopping momentarily to make a muted comment to his

Germaine, who is still cleaning the room, she knowingly smiles at him, but then looks at

him with a hint of concern. He walks through the large entrance area, beginning to climb

the main stairs in the hallway beyond, his footsteps softly echoing on the ornate floor

tiles. He does not seem to be in any particular hurry, yet his movements are definite and

purposeful. A man on his way to get some forgotten item, or perhaps to change from his

gardening clothes into more suitably wear for an evening out.

He enters his second-floor bedroom, and strolls over toward the dormer window. He

looks out of the window with studied caution, his intense, sea-green eyes carefully

scanning the road leading to the villa. He stands far enough back to avoid being seen.

The police car is approaching along the main highway. It slows down, and then turns into

Kent's driveway.

Kent's eyes travel with the car along the driveway. He makes the slightest movement

backward.

The car circles around the driveway until it faces the roadway again. The second it stops

the doors open and four of the men quickly get out, the driver remaining in the car. The

man with the closely-cropped high forehead, who appears to be the leader, is issuing

instructions to the men. He is obviously directing them to surround the house. They

move off to their various stations. The leader and his assistant approach the front door,

until Clark can no longer see them as they disappear under the edge of the roof.

Turning from his vantage point, Clark moves in a calm business-like way to a clothes

closet, opens it, and retrieves a long canvas case and a small yellow box. He seems not

to notice the opening zipper's loudness in the quite of the bedroom. From the case he

takes a double-barreled shotgun. From the yellow box he takes two shotgun shells.

These are filled with 20-30 metal pellets, which unlike a single bullet, that spread in a

wide pattern, ensuring that the target will be hit with at least a few of the pellets. If both

barrels were fired simultaneously the target, or person, could be on the receiving end of

60 small metal bullets.

With practiced ease he breaks open the shotgun to reveal the two chambers and loads

the shells into them. He snaps the gun shut, then releases the safety catch. He then

positions the shotgun on a nearby chintz-covered armchair, laying the loaded gun across

the chair arms. His bearing is now more nonchalant, suggesting a relaxed state of mind.

Whistling quietly he strolls out through the open bedroom door, closing it behind him. He

stops just out of sight of anyone looking up from the foyer.

While Clark has been preparing the shotgun there has been steady knocking on the front

door, now opened. Then there are muffled voices of the men and the replies of his

housekeeper—all in French, drifting up the stairs to his bedroom. As Kent waits above,

we hear the voice of Germaine, his housekeeper, calling up to him as he hears the

sound of feet walking on the tiles below.

As Kent comes to the top of the stairs Germaine says, standing downstairs. "Monsieur

Kent!" He descends the stairs as she says, "deux messieurs vous demandent."

"Ah, yes, two men want me, mercie, Germaine."

She stands aside to let him pass, casting a very sour and critical glance at the two

policemen.

As Kent turns into the living room, Germaine retires to her kitchen, giving another defiant

and unfriendly look at the police.

The two detectives are standing in the living room, their backs to Kent. They are about

five feet apart. Clark advances into the room a few steps, then stops and looks at them

enquiringly. There is something about his manner that seems strange. He waits for them

to speak. The larger man on the right, with a high, receding hairline over a closely

shaved face, announces his name.

"I am Chief Inspector Lepic.

The second man, smaller, but thicker around the shoulders and arms, adds, "I am Mercier,"

he says, not offering his title.

Clark looks at them, patiently waiting, appearing unperturbed by their presence.

"I'm Monsieur Kent," he says casually.

"Monsieur Kent, we are with the Sureté Nationale (the French police) and are

investigating a number of missing objects of value. We believe that you can help us with

our inquiries."

...L'obligeance de nous accompagner à notre Bureau de Nice?, Lepic says, and then

switches to English, "Excuse me…we would like you to accompany us to our office in Nice. "

During this exchange, Kent has listened impassively, although his alert mind is fast at

work considering alternative responses.

Slowly, seemingly in no hurry, Kent crosses to the window and looks out.

The men's heads slowly turn as they follow his movements, expecting him to offer no

resistance. He is, after all, a gentleman.

Kent crosses the room and looks out another window. His face still shows no

expression.

He turns to the two men and says in nearly perfect French, "Vous me permettrez bien de

prendre mon chapeau et mon veston, " Kent says, smiling slightly at the two policemen?

He gestures towards his arms and head where his hat and coat would go.

Lepic makes a gesture of acceptance, but with a flick of his hand indicating that Kent

should hurry. Kent nods, then turns and moves out of the room and goes up the stairs.

Immediately the two men exchange suspicious glances. Lepic gestures with his hand

held up for Mercier to stay where he is. Then Lepic moves softly, and surprisingly swiftly

for a big man, toward the staircase.

In the villa's hallway Lepic comes to the foot of the stairs just as he hears the door to the

bedroom above closing. Lepic hears a click as the door is being locked.

Concerned, Lepic quickly turns and calls out, "Mercier!"

Not looking to see if Mercier is following he turns back and hurries up the stairs, taking

the steps two at a time. Halfway up the stairway the hallway is rocked by the loud

explosion of a gun going off, quite loud within the building. As Lepic involuntarily flinches

from the gun shot he reaches the top landing. Mercier follows close behind him in the

hallway. They both come to an abrupt stop as they hear what can only be the loud thud

of a falling body.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapitre Trois**

Outside the villa, the driver of the police car has heard the gun shot boom from inside

the house. His training told him there was trouble. He jumps out of the car, and rushes in

the front doorway.

The other detectives that had been covering the sides and back of the villa to prevent an

escape are coming from three directions, feet pounding like the clop-clop of race horses,

to converge on the front of the building. The fastest of them shoulder their way into the

front door, as their slower fellows follow quickly behind.

While all this scurrying around is taking place on the grounds, high above the sound of

the running feet is a small dormer window on the roof. Clark Kent appears at the

window. He has a pair of shoes tied around his neck. Behind him, and in the house

below, he can hear loud pounding on the bedroom door, shouting and loud voices.

As Clark listens to the shouts he is calculating the distance he needs to cover on the

rooftop. He has a slight smile on his face, as though her were enjoying a private joke.

His face shows no trace of panic. He is experiencing memories of the many times he

had to evade the German authorities during the war, and yes, memories of his career as

master thief – Le Chat.

Only moments have passed as he emerges from the window, and in his bare feet Clark

athletically makes his way along the roof toward the end of the house. He moves with

experienced ease over the tiles. Reaching the end of the house, he puts socks and

shoes and starts to lower himself down a drain pipe.

Inside the villa Lepic and Mercier are at the top of the stairs, trying to force the door

open, while the other men are crowding the bottom of the stairway, their eyes looking

upward at the closed bedroom door.

With a last strong ramming against the door's weak point Lepic and Mercier succeed in

bursting it open. The door pops open followed by a crash against the side wall. Lepic

and Mercier take two steps forward but are quickly halted when they see a double-

barreled gun propped up and pointing threateningly at them. The gun is resting on an

overturned wing armchair facing them, its trigger hidden from view.

Not sure if someone is holding the shotgun they cautiously move into the room. Just

then there is the sound of a car starting up right out side the window, and an

accelerating engine noise that recedes as the car roars down the road.

Without bothering to go to the window, instinctively knowing what has happened, they

immediately turn and rush back through the doorway. They are met with the sound of

pounding feet as the other detectives on the floor below rush for the outside door.

The detectives rush out, and look out toward the roadway where they see a faint cloud of

dust and hear the sound of the other car's engine racing. Lepic dashes out, and issues

swift orders to the other detectives. They hurry toward their automobile.

They pile in quickly, and the car starts off and turns from the driveway into the main,

winding highway. The driver get the quickly gets the car up to speed, taking small

chances as he accelerates around turns racing down the twisting road with a panoramic

view of the mountains around them.

They do not take notice of the view as the centrifugal force of the car negotiated the

sharp turns has the men hanging on so as not to fall on to their opposite fellow. Ahead,

they can see Kent's red convertible is less than a mile down the curve of the road, with

their car inexorably closing the distance between them.

The two cars are tearing their way around the winding road, near the limits of the car's

capabilities and the drivers' skills with the rear car further gaining on Kent's car. The cars

merge onto the open highway, soon approaching a medieval, walled-in village.

Any bystander would not be able to see either car now as they enter this sheltered

village. The eyes would only be able to follow along the outer walls where the sound of

the cars racing through the village can be heard, screaming like wild animals. Exiting first

at the other end of the walled village is the police car.

The car pulls up suddenly, brakes squealing, and two of the policemen jump out and

look both ways down the highway, on which there is no car in sight. Abruptly, Kent's car

roars out of the village past them. The police scramble back into their car, and before the

doors are closed continue the pursuit.

The driver of the police car ignores some of his professional discipline and aggressively

accelerates to bring their car alongside Kent's car, beginning to force it to a stop at the

side of the road. Immediately all the doors spring open and the police pile out before

their car has completely stopped. They quickly surround Kent's red convertible.

When Lepic rushes to Kent's car he yanks the door open only to see that Kent is not at

the wheel, but that Germaine, his housekeeper, is the driver. She has an annoyed look

on her face.

She complains loudly about them having driven her to the side of the road. "Qu'est-ce

qui vous prend, hein? I am an honest citizen. Since when is it a crime to go shopping.

Out of my way you babes at the State teat, I'm going to the market. "

Lepic's face is red with barely contained anger as he say, "I want this woman

questioned…until we get some answers." Turning to her he mock bows and says

sardonically, "If you please Madam."

Earlier, back at the villa Clark had casually crossed the road toward the local bus which

was just coming to a stop. He got on the bus, paid his fare and the bus drove off. Soon,

as the bus traveled down the road it was forced to move to one side, to allow a speeding

car to pass it going in the opposite direction. When Clark casually looked he saw that it

was the police car, racing to his villa.

Clark had calmly looked out the window at the passing police car.

Clark turns his attention to the woman sitting next to him. She has a colorful bird, a

macaw it appears, in a cage on her lap. The bird suddenly begins fluttering and flapping

its wings in fright.

Clark looks down at the bird and says, "your bird… oiseau agréable, madame," as she

nods her head in agreement, smiling at the nice man.

He leans comfortably back in his seat, a smile playing at his lips.

As the bus that Clark is on makes its way along the pickup route it reaches an

intersection. Clark sees that there is a patrol policeman standing at the traffic

intersection, observing pedestrian and vehicular traffic. Clark's bus is on the other side of

the street as it pulls up to the stop. Two other passengers get off at this stop with Clark.

He walks around the back of the bus, and crosses the roadway.

Halfway across Clark glances at the policeman, without turning his head. He wonders if

word of his flight can have reached this far, if this policeman is on the alert for him. He

relaxes into the role his current clothes would suggest, that of a day worker traveling to a

job, looking for work or just lunch.

He continues cautiously walking without changing his pace. As Clark get close to the

policeman, he raises a flat palm towards his face, while he contorts his face into an

exaggerated yawn. He uses this as a simple and effective momentary disguise. As Clark

passes the policeman and moves on down the street he stops momentarily to check

behind him using the reflective surface of store front glass.

He sees the policeman turn casually and follows him with his eyes. Clark pretends to be

looking at the window display, and then checks his watch as though late for an

appointment. Clark continues walking after he sees the policeman also begin to yawn,

his mouth opening wide and eyes closed, as he turns away.

Coming to the end of the street Clark notices a pretty dark haired woman in a large

Mercedes limousine. As the car comes to a stop to allow right-of-way traffic to pass she

looks over at him. He is first drawn to her exotic, almond shaped eyes, suggesting some

Euro-Asian ancestry. As he waits for traffic to clear his eyes map the symmetry of her

face, the delicate nose, high cheek bones, plush lips, graceful neck, the wide apart eyes

set beneath a thick mane of lustrous, nearly black hair.

Lana is casually staring out the car window when she sees this handsome man. When

her car pulls abreast of where he's stopped less than ten feet separate them. She takes

in his clothes – working man, perhaps – his carriage - former athlete, his overall

physique- impressive.

And, she comes back to his eyes, his expression. She thinks that this is a man who has

had woman chase him most of his life. Probably finding it easy to break hearts, never

really having to work at a relationship when his physical beauty did much of the work for

him.

_But, those eyes, they do seem to draw me into their sea-storm depths._

As the car moves off, she quickly dismisses him as yet another handsome wastrel that

might have only been worth a few moments flirtation.

As the car drives off, Clark stands a moment trying to understand what he has just felt.

He is a man that has bedded many woman, and he is much less impressed with physical

beauty now than when he was a younger man.

_So why, then, would I be drawn to a passing face in a car window?_

He thinks it must have something to do with his heightened state of engagement, his

anxiety at the police pursuit, and yes, his excitement at being the hunted in this real life

game. He quickly puts the woman in the car out of his mind, not needing a distraction

now, however beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapitre Quatre**

Still thinking about the woman in the car, Clark is a little bemused at himself for lingering

on the image of a passing stranger, so unlike him. Refocusing himself, Clark checks to

see if he has shed any likely tail. Certain that he has lost any immediate pursuit he turns

several corners until he is approaching the steps leading to a smart little restaurant

located on the dock side of Monte Carlo. There is a small marquee with the words

Bertani's Restaurant displayed in a faded purple script, over a much darker purple

awning. The owner, Bertani, was a compatriot with Clark during the war, and may be

able to help him.

Clark descends the steps into the garden section of the restaurant. It is mid-day, and

several groups of 5 and 6 customers are arriving for luncheon. The restaurant has an

array of well-appointed tables which suggests that this restaurant has some special

quality. There are plenty of waiters, and the clientele are of the well-to-do and

fashionable set. Kent approaches the garden entrance to the restaurant.

Kent enters behind a large group of people, smiling and blending in with the lively

conversation, as they wait for a table. The headwaiter motions the group forward to a

table, leaving Kent alone, looking out of place at the entrance. His country clothes

contrast sharply with the sophisticated atmosphere.

At a nearby table, the wine waiter is uncorking a bottle of champagne for a couple. He

looks up, as he turns the cork. A slightly startled look comes into his face as he sees

Kent. At this moment, the cork pops. He continues to stare at Kent, not believing his

eyes. He's not paying attention to the champagnes until the foam spills out of the neck

of the bottle over his hands.

Kent gives him a faint smile and a slight admonishing shake of the head, as though to

say 'watch what you're doing'. The waiter quickly recovers, and turns to his customers

with a smile, offering them an apology. A busboy hurries up with a napkin to dry the

bottle and the waiter's hands.

Turning from the waiter, Clark scans the restaurant, looking for someone. Suddenly he

sees Bertani, the restaurant owner. Instead of approaching the older man, Clark give

him a meaningful look. Having caught Bertani's eye, he moves toward the back of the

restaurant. Bertani's eyes turn for a moment to follow Kent.

At the back of the restaurant, in a small, frost-glass enclosed counter, sits the cashier,

Antoinette. She has little to do at the moment as there are no customers that are close to

finishing their meals. With a look of recognition, and slight alarm, she watches Kent walk

past her and continue into the glass-enclosed office behind her desk.

The office Kent enters is about twelve feet square, with windows that look out to the

kitchen, and toward the cashier's stand which is outside the left wall. There is an open

doorway leading to the cashier's stand. Beyond the cashier is the central room of the

restaurant, which now dark in the daytime, and beyond that is the outside garden

restaurant, currently very crowded and busy. At this distance the patron's conversations

are a muted cacophony.

One side of the office is a large wood and glass partition, beyond which is the kitchen.

Kent looks casually out the glass partition toward the kitchen, his mind occupied with his

immediate problem. Are the police after him because they believe he is again active as

the Le Chat, or has he been framed for some other crime? Despite having enjoyed more

than 8 years as a 'civilian' he still is wary of the authority's tolerance for his past

indiscretions.

Just then he notices that one of the chefs is staring at him with a hostile expression. The

man immediately turns and starts to move along side the other chefs and kitchen

workers. He stops to whisper something to each one. As they listen to what he says

they half turn and look toward Kent. Then they turn back to resume their tasks.

As Kent is watching the first chef a fresh egg smashes against the glass right over his

face. The yellow goo runs down the glass in front of his face. He moves slowly away,

with a grim smile on his face.

No one seems to be paying any attention. He isn't certain who threw the egg. The busy

kitchen activities continue as though nothing had happened.

Just then Bertani enters. He is a heavy-set, dapper man of about 55, with surprisingly

small, quick feet. Kent recalls that he is a very good foxtrot dancer. Beneath Bertani's

carefully chosen wardrobe, and a professional air that is over-friendly and slightly comic,

his strength as a leader of men is still evident. He quickly appraises Kent still clothed in

his gardening clothes, as compared this his more dressy style when he is out and about,

and says, "Left in a hurry, did you Clark?"

"They came for me an hour ago."

"The police?"

"Five of them."

"Very flattering. Five, you say."

Bertani strolls-to a wall mirror, checks his tie and adjusts the hang of his coat. "You

know, they sent only four to arrest Bluebeard," a small smile at his lips.

"And he was guilty."

"And naturally, Clark, you are innocent."

"I haven't stolen a piece of jewelry in nine years!"

Bertani turns from the mirror, reacts with a smile, saying, "Ah—honesty."

"It has a good feeling, no?"

Bertani casts a look toward his kitchen, So, what do you think of my kitchen? Works like

a well-oiled machine, yes?"

"Bertani…, " Clark impatiently starts to interrupt.

Bertani turns and hold up his hand, "Just like our little band in the Resistance—cutting,

slicing —but not good meat, like this."

"Can we get down to business?"

Bertani strolls to his desk, looks over a menu as he asked, "The recent jewel robberies.

Entre nous, what do you know about them?"

"Only what I read in the papers."

"But yet you run from the police?"

"The guilty have no monopoly on running. I needed time —and distance. I don't need

some politician or bureaucrat to decide that they can best run for office by claiming to

clean the streets of riff-raff like me," Kent said, smiling ruefully. "Or, worse yet, some fool

jailer just leaves me to rot in a dungeon for years while they decide what crime I can still

be prosecuted for.

Bertani pauses thoughtfully before saying, "Coincidence can be terrible. All these

robberies bear your mark—but you claim to be innocent." He says with a slightly

skeptical tone.

Kent's face hardens a little, along with his response, "I do more than claim, Bertani—I

offer my word."

"Naturally —and I respect what you only give in sincerity. But let's be candid with each

other. What do you need now, an alibi for the time of each robbery?"

Clark shoots him a fleeting, unfriendly look, quickly replaced by a casual smile, "No…But

I do thank you, my dear Bertani. You've been most unkind. If I'm ever hungry, I'll eat

someplace else."

He starts for the door. Bertani quickly moves around the desk and intercepts him with a

conciliatory look. He gives Kent the beginnings of a warm smile. "I felt the good thing in

here... (He taps his chest) but said the bad thing. "

Just then Antoinette taps the window with her nail to get Bertani's attention. When

Bertani opens the door Antoinette hands him a document to sign.

While waiting Clark turns his back on Betrani and looks into the kitchen. Beyond the egg-

splattered glass partition, a couple of the kitchen workers are looking toward the office.

They are La Mule, the dishwasher, and one of the chefs. Both men have unfriendly

faces.

Clark looks at them with a challenging smile, as if to say 'how may I help you?' Bertani's

voice breaks in, causing him to turn around. "What can I do for you, Clark?

"All I want is someone to look after my villa—pay Germaine and the gardener once a

month, makes sure the six families I help continue to get support, which would come

from the proceeds of the villa's grapes and flowers. And, once in a while play with the

cat."

Bertani makes a gesture with his hands to indicate that the request is so simple that.

Clark should never have worried about it, and says, "Simple…done."

Clark says, "If there's any money left—put it in the bank under another name. Well, the

flics might show up here any minute—".

Bertani interrupts with a concerned look on his face, " And now—you need clothes and

money?

"I'm well supplied, thanks, "said as he moves a little toward the door.

Bertani stops him. "Clark why don't you take my boat and go to the islands, it is a

beautiful time of the year there."

"I'm thinking of going home to America, " said with a smile.

"—could you live without French cooking?"

"I'll have to struggle along on hamburgers and malts," Kent says.

As Bertani pretends to hold his stomach in pain, making a disgusted face, he says, "No,

this is a gastronomic abomination, it is better that I hide you.

Clark smiles and shakes his head no, insisting, "On to America. If my luck holds out."

"And if it does not my friend, then what," said as he looks at the younger man?

"Well Bertani, you and the kitchen boys will have won a beautiful, but heavily mortgaged

villa."

As Clark says these words an expression of deep pain and concern comes over

Bertani's face. As he goes to the window facing the kitchen he sees the egg splatter, and

then quickly looks around the mess into the kitchen.

He looks intently at the dishwasher, and two of the other kitchen helpers, who have been

staring at Kent. When they see him staring at them they self-consciously turn back to

their jobs.

Just as Bertani turns to ask a Kent question, Antoinette taps on the door. She opens it,

and, then whispers something urgently to him, as she points out toward the restaurant:

Monsieur Bertani! Les clients attendent pour avoir des tables!

"Excuse me, Clark. Business calls—the happy sound of money. I'll return shortly." He

says, leaving the office.

Clark stands in the doorway of the kitchen, the office behind him. His body stance and

attitude clearly indicate that he is not in the least intimidated by the hostility of the kitchen

help. His attention is drawn to the same wine waiter that spilled the champagne when

Kent entered the restaurant. The waiter is coming up the cellar stairs carrying a couple

of bottles of wine. He limps slightly. As he approaches Kent says, "Bonjour, Foussard."

Foussard gives him a cold stare and passes Kent without responding. As Kent turns to

look after he sees one of the vegetable chef looking at him menacingly as he violently

twists the tops of a bunch of carrots, as he might someone's neck.

Kent grins at the chef. Then, from the other end of the kitchen he hears his name called,

"Allez-vous en, Kent!

At the dishwashing sinks, full of soapy water, with steam rising from them, stands a hairy

mountain of a man. They call him La Mule. Kent sees the man looking at him with pure

hatred.

At the sound of La Mule's voice ordering Kent out of the kitchen, the place falls quiet.

Work is forgotten as the chefs and their helpers turn to look at Kent. Foussard stands

nearby watching, his customers unattended. One of them is Lana, who has now turned

away from the meal she is eating with her Aunt Nell and an American multi-millionaire

Nell has introduced to Lana, as potential husband material She seems less

interested in the man across the table from her than she is in the man in the kitchen..

A door to the kitchen that is usually closed has been left opened, allowing Lana a partial

view of Kent. Lana sees Kent stands his ground, left foot forward, seeming ready to go

into a fighter stance if necessary. He keeps his eyes on the dishwasher. La Mule

carefully wipes his hands on his apron, massive forearms flexing. He picks up a plate

and smashes it in half against the sinks, and advances on Kent with the jagged half of

the plate held threateningly in his right hand.

Seeing this Lana rises from her chair, about to ask male companion to intervene,

thinking someone will soon be hurt.

Kent doesn't move, his face appears calm, but the eyes are flitting over the scene,

calculating alternatives as he guardedly watches La Mule.

La Mule, coming slowly, his eyes rolling wildly, advancing threateningly toward Kent.

Kent's eyes dart down for a moment and his hand slides behind him picking up one of

the two bottles of wine just deposited there by Foussard, the wine waiter. With startling

speed his hand comes forward, whipping the bottle toward the oncoming dishwasher. Li

Mule's instinctive reaction is to drop the broken half of the plate, and catch the bottle of

wine in both hands to prevent it smashing into his face.

The kitchen workers, despite their allegiance to the dishwasher, burst into sudden

laughter at seeing La Mule so neatly disarmed and his menacing attitude turned into

confusion as he grasps the bottle.

The laughter seems to increase Li Mule's rage. He grips the neck of the wine bottle and

advances farther toward Kent. Suddenly, the authoritative voice of Bertani is heard

telling him to quickly put the bottle away, "La Mule! Pose cette bouteille et retourne a to

vaisselle! En vitesse, hein!

Still standing, napkin in her hand, Lana marvels at how Kent has defused what appeared

to be a potentially violent scene with some bottle juggling worthy of a circus performer.

_Maybe he is more than a pretty boy_

"Lana, do please sit down, won't you, " implores Nell, gesturing to the seat.

Kent has turned as Bertani beckons him back into the office. As Kent starts to go, he

sees out of the corner of his eye that the woman in the car is dining here. And that she

had apparently been looking at him, perhaps she had seen what just occurred. He feels

unaccountably awkward about her witnessing this little fracas, it seems so crass to him.

As an unspoken apology he offers her a small smile. She seems to return it as the

corners of her mouth gently rise a little, holding his glance a few moments. She then

turns back to her fellow dinners.

Kent quickly turns to give one more glance at La Mule, and then as a parting shot, picks

up a glass and tosses it to La Mule, who catches the glass in his other hand. There are a

few more laughs from the kitchen hands. As La Mule turns angrily away, the rest of the

kitchen hands go back to their work.

Shrugging, Kent says to Bertrani "Even they think I'm operating again."

"Well—once they were all in prison with you—so the police think..."

"Don't tell me. "One bad apple spoils the barrel, and I'm the rotten apple."

Bertani nods and says, "But since the Resistance, I have required that all these men be

honest. I have beat honesty into their skulls—I did not want them to break their paroles

and return to prison.

Kent responds, "Listen, if my parole is broken, they'll throw the key away. "

"Remember, Kent—some of them have families to think of now."

Kent looks out to the kitchen and says, "I wouldn't put it past any one of them to be doing

the robberies themselves."

Bertani laughs, "Simple men—without education? No, I don't think so, Kent. They might

kill somebody in the dark, but steal jewels, not this lot. Not a single one of them has a

pinky's worth of your finesse."

"Thanks, I think. With them eliminated, by your own account, that would seem to leave

you, my very good friend, as a likely candidate," said as he stared into Bertrani's eyes.

Bertani bubbles with good humor as he checks himself in his wall mirror again, patting

already neat hair in place

"I have this restaurant, that's enough. And I can't even climb a ladder now without many

aches and pains visiting me. He turns back to Clark. There is a look of concern on his

face. "Perhaps you were right to flee. It's time to go if the flics come."

Clark is listening to Bertrani while he is trying to understand how this thief can imitate

him so perfectly. "This has to be somebody who knew every detail of my technique.

Maybe a member of the police."

Bertani chuckles at the thought, "Ah—voila! Now that would be a novelty."

"This false Cat picks the perfect victims—only the right stones—he goes up walls, over

roofs, down through skylights— dresses in black—leaves no clues, no one hurt, no fuss,

and disappears in the night."

"Just like Monsieur Clark Kent, The Cat, " said with a whimsical smile,

Clearly annoyed, Kent says, "So, you don't believe me any more than the rest of them."

He starts pacing, deep in thought. "This fake is so faultless at imitating The Cat that I

sometimes wake up thinking I might have done the jobs myself," he says bitterly. "And I

don't like running, hiding and leaving a trail of doubt in everybody's mind."

"I shall defend you when I can."

"Bertani—the only true defenses a man has are his own actions." Clark continues

pacing, in the small office, looking increasing like his feline name sake. His every motion

one of contained, sinuous power, held in check, but ready when needed.

"Clark, sometimes a fellow must run," Bertani says sincerely, concerned for Kent's

safety. He looks off nervously out toward the restaurant. "The police—could be on to you

at any moment."

"If somebody caught this—imitator, we'd all, well…I would be off the hook, " said as the

first genuine, dimple-producing smile appears since he has entered the restaurant. Well,

there was the one smile he offered the lady in the car. "Nobody believes me—and the

police are chasing the wrong man. Someone's got to start chasing the right one."

"Could you do more than the police?"

"The police always get to the scene of a job after it happens. They'll never catch this kind

of a thief that way."

"How could you move around the Cote d'Azur?—They're all looking for you."

"They were looking for me in Paris 8 years ago and I gave them a pretty good chase, "

Clark says with a small note of pride in his voice.

"One day you'll make a mistake."

Clark shakes his head, "I only made one mistake. If this fake Cat knows so much about

me, he won't repeat it—there's only one answer. I've got to find this imitator myself—and

there's only one way. Anticipate his moves. Get there ahead of him, and then catch him

with his hand in somebody's jewel case.

Kent paces, his lithe, powerful strides eating up the space. Bertani who is watching his

coming and going with the fascination one would have seeing a caged panther.

Bertrani says, "Suppose they catch you—and the robberies continue? "

Kent thinks for a moment and says, "That probably won't happen. If I am caught

the imitator will stop stealing—and they never look for the fake, they think they have the

real thief, Le Chat. Which, unfortunately is me."

Kent moves away, around the room, as Bertani's eyes follow him.

"The biggest problem is time. I've got to hit this copy-cat, " smiling slightly at the

unintentional pun, " before he knows I'm after him." He continues pacing back and forth

as he thinks.

Clark suddenly stops and says, "To catch him in the act. I need better information than

he has. The kind it takes months. to dig out."

Bertrani adds, "And—who has jewelry that deserves to be stolen?" "I know that you used

to target only those of the wealthy that could afford the loss, and who had in some way

contributed to the world's misery. Kind of a symbolic pay back, eh? Is this still your

preferred method," looking curiously at Clark, waiting for his answer.

"Yes, my friend, that has not changed. I do not…did not…steal from the gentler souls,

only those with some tarnish on them, you know, the ones with a dark history, "a

meaningful smile offered to Bertrani.

"Now, what other information would I need," Clark quickly says, "where they live, which

room they keep the stones in, and what time they usually go to sleep, how much they

drink, whether they have dogs, guns, servants, insurance— and more detail if possible."

He walks away from Betrani, stops momentarily, then turns back, continuing his pacing.

During this, Bertani has seated himself, and put his feet up on his desk. He opens the

top drawer of his large desk, and begins to rummage through it, a thoughtful look on his

face. He soon finds what he is looking for. He takes out a visiting card, studies it.

"You made me remember a man who came into my restaurant two days ago, "said as he

smiles at Kent "I didn't like him very much."

"Why?"

"He called me to his table; he asked me about crime and criminals. Me! A respectable,

honest, restaurateur!

Clark smiles at him and says, "see what happens when your past catches up with you,

Bertani?"

"This man asked me all these probing questions, I refused to answer any of them. But

then, he offered—" His speech is broken by a sharp tap at the door.

Antoinette is opening the door. Bertani turns in his chair.

''Monsieur Bertani, le Commissaire Lepic est dehors, dans le jardin! ''

"The flics, " Clark says as he immediately moves toward the kitchen side of the office,

placing himself out of sight of the restaurant.

Bertani rises quickly and looks out into restaurant. In the distant garden, he can just see

Chief Inspector Lepic talking to the headwaiter. His assistant, Mercier looks unhappy as

he scans the restaurant and the customers.

Foussard, the wine steward, quickly comes into the kitchen, going from the chef to the

dishwasher, whispering to them that the police are on the premises. They all exchange

concerned looks.

Bertani turns from the doorway to the restaurant. He goes past Kent and opens the

kitchen door. He sees the alarm among the kitchen hands, he then gestures for

Foussard to come to him.

He turns to Foussard as the wine steward arrives and then begins speaking, "Non, mais

je ne veux pas qu'elle soit melée à— "

Bertani interrupts impatiently, ''Tu preferes sans doute passer la nuit en prison? Yes,

you need to do it or you could be in prison tonight, ''switching to English in frustration,

although Foussard understands very little English he gets the point.

There is no answer from Foussard.

Bertrani turns to Kent. "Foussard's daughter will take you out of here by boat. "

"Where? "

"The Beach Club in Cannes. Wait for a phone call there."

Kent nods, with a quick hand shake and follows Foussard out a back exit.

In the front of the restaurant Lepic is approaching the desk of Antoinette. Just as he

does, about to ask her a question Bertani walks up to him and engages Lepic in

animated conversation. While their conversation cannot be heard from a distance it is

clear that Bertani is protesting the disruption of Lepic and the other flics barging into this

respectable establishment.

Just below where this conversation is going on, with Lepic patiently listening to Bertrani's

concerns, is the wine cellar. Sitting atop a short ladder, is Foussard's daughter,

Loilan. She is checking the current supply of wines against the inventory list, in

preparation for placing a new order. As she looks closely at some of the bottle labels,

clinking them together as she reads the type of wine. She turns as she hears her

father and Kent coming down the stairs from the kitchen.

Loilan is surprised when she sees Kent. She doesn't move off the ladder, but looks

slightly down into his eyes. She is a young French woman of perhaps twenty–four years,

with a curious and attractive face framed by dark, shoulder length hair. Her light summer

dress does not hide her voluptuous curves, nor part of her thigh revealed by her stance

on the ladder. While her dress is not expensive it expresses the definite taste of its

owner. She is clearly not one of Bertani's regular employees.

As the two men approach her, Kent smiles at her, but does not glance at her revealed

thigh, making no comment. She steps down off the ladder, holding her skirt against her

leg. She watches her father, who quickly says, "Les flics viennent de s'amener (Nodding

to Kent)...Ils recherchent Monsieur Kent.

Foussard tells her that Bertani wants her to ''…veut que tu is conduises en canot

jusqu'au Beach Club." That she must get him to safety.

She turns a puzzled face to Kent, who waits, a friendly but noncommittal took on his

face.

She looks back to her father, as if to say, "Are you serious?" Foussard seems to take his

annoyance with Kent out on his daughter, telling her to do what he says, to get Kent

away from here, now. ''Dépêche-toi!''

Loilan shrugs lightly, then softens and smiles at her father, with a side long glance at

Kent. Then she hugs her father affectionately around the shoulders with one arm. They

exchange glances that show their fondness for each other. Loilan looks at Kent briefly

again, then turns and moves toward the back of the cellar, glancing over her shoulder to

say, "Okay. Let's go, Mister Cat."

Kent moves quickly after her, "Do me a favor, Loilan. Don't call me a cat."

Without turning, or stopping, she answers him, "I only do one favor a day."

She swings open a low door at the far end of the cellar. Strong daylight floods in. Both of

them know that just a short distance beyond the restaurant is the sun-soaked

Mediterranean, where many people are now relaxing on the beaches.

By now, Kent has reached Loilan. He gently takes her by the shoulder, and turns her

around to face him. Her face is attentive, her eyes looking into his, but otherwise

showing no emotion.

"Look—if you don't want to do this..."

She slowly lowers her shoulder to get it out from under his hand, swiveling her hips in a

provocative way. She looks at him innocently, a smile starting on her lips.

"Did I brush your fur the wrong way?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapitre Cinq

After Clark left with Loilan the police continued to question the staff of the restaurant.

Bertani is talking with Lepic in the office. The kitchen help surreptitiously watches the two

men engage in a heated exchange, with Bertani apparently the loser. Lepic pauses for a

moment, waiting to see if Bertani has a response, when there is none he quickly turns

and enters the kitchen. He moves to the center of the kitchen, places his hands on hips

as though about to conduct a military review. And then, one by one, he loudly calls

several of the kitchen help to come to him. Slowly, their faces impassive, they gather

around Lepic in a loose semi-circle. Looking from face to face, he waits for someone to

speak. All eyes are politely looking ahead, with little expression. No one speaks.

Lepic angrily jabs his forefinger at each one of them in a threatening manner. They

remain expressionless.

"What do you nice people know about Le Chat, was that him who was just here, eh" he

head swiveling slowing from one person to the next, the overhead kitchen lights throwing

a glare on his perspiring forehead.

As he reaches the last kitchen help he carefully pulls a clean, white handkerchief from

his pocket and daintily wipes his forehead.

"So, I am to believe that this room full of hooligans I see before me knows nothing of the

whereabouts of The Cat, Monsieur Clark Kent, is this not so?"

He is greeted by a group of faces that might as well be an oil painting for all the

response he receives.

"Ah yes, honor among thieves…if one can call that miserable trade honorable," he says,

a fine spittle leaving his mouth, as his anger increase.

Just then the sound of a powerful speedboat's engines is heard. Lepic looks instantly

alert, suddenly less interested in his audience.

"Mercier, to the water, he is escaping, " he yells as he bolts toward the garden that

opens onto the water front. Just as he reaches the railing a twenty-five foot speedboat

make a wide, water-parting turn out into the Mediterranean, with Kent and Loilan as the

passengers soon disappearing from sight.

Mercier meets the exasperated Lepic leaning slightly over the railing as though to reach

out and catch his elusive quarry.

Bertani calmly strolls up to them, a very small smile on his lips.

"May I be of further assistance to you Chief Inspector?"

Mercier says something to Lepic that Bertani couldn't make out. Lepic turns and scowls

at Bertani and says, "We will speak again, my dear restaurateur. He then points in the

direction of the Mediterranean and sprints toward the waiting police car with Mercier.

Bertani watches as Lepic goes down the side road that runs along the back of the

restaurant, followed by Mercier. Bertani sees Lepic lean into the police car, grab the

dashboard microphone and a bark out a quick set of orders, which Bertani cannot hear

at this distance. But clearly Lepic is not happy.

Out on the Mediterranean the speedboat is just skimming the water, with a spray fanning

upward from the bow, almost obscuring the two passengers. At this speed the

passengers can see the coastline each time the boat dips, and when it rises again they

still see the high, partially cloud-covered mountains beyond.

Loilan is half-sitting on the pilots chair as she steers the craft, while Kent sits in the seat

beyond. Her light summer skirt is slowly getting wet as the spray continues. Her top is

already wet enough to clearly outline her prominent breast. Ignoring the spray, she

expertly handles the boat, and seems to be enjoying herself, as her smile would

suggest.

As more of the spray falls on both of them Clark wipes some of the water off his face.

"You're getting us wet," he says, half seriously, as there is little way to avoid the spray

without slowing down, something he does not want to do.

She laughs, but doesn't slow down, "It must be true what they say. Cats don't like water."

He gives her an annoyed look and says, "Is there any way I can get you not to mention

that word again?"

"A man should never regret his past, especially one so storied as your own," mock

admiration in her voice.

"I only regret one thing," he says, staring at her.

"That you never asked me to marry you," she says, with a smirk?"

"That I ever took the time to teach you English."

She shoots a glance at him and says, "You only taught me the nouns. I learned the

adjectives myself."

"The word "cat"' is a noun."

Loilan turns slightly toward him, while not allowing the craft's speed to slow, "Not the way

you use the word. For you it means excitement, danger, escape... affluence... ," She

turns, pleased with herself, "What do you think of that word... affluence? It means

wealth."

Clark turns away from the horizon he has been scanning and squints at her, "What's on

your mind?"

"Oh…nothing. I was just thinking about you... imagining you in your expensive villa,

enjoying life—while the rest of us work like idiots for a loaf of bread and some wine."

A little annoyed he says, "I work for a living, too—raising a grape harvest and cultivating

exotic flowers for sale."

She shoots back," —and raising emeralds, and diamonds, and pearls—"

Angrily he reaches over and quickly shuts off the motor. The speedboat comes to a

sliding stop, and the silence is sudden. The boat moves gently up and down with the

slap of the water on the hull, the beach that is their goal still far away.

"Ok, School's open again. Professor Kent will now conduct a class on "Bad Manners" —

or, "How to get spanked in a hurry"."

Loilan stands up to her full height, her hips cocked saucily and smiles challengingly.

"You can't touch me. I've graduated." She hesitates, and then looking searchingly in his

eyes and asks, "You going to run to South America?"

He stares at her for a moment, shakes his head and says, "No, The Beach Club at

Cannes.

"I have always dreamed of going to South America, she says wistfully, "people say it's

unspoiled country where you can start fresh, have a new life without the past holding

onto you."

Kent looks down a moment, saddened as he realizes that Loilan still feels something for

what they once had. Their affair was a tempestuous one that was doomed to run it

course. While there was much laughter and fun Clark had soon come to see that Loilan

was a broken bird whose wings he could not mend.

"I can cook, sew, be generous to you at the good time, keep my mouth shut, and peddle

stolen jewels at the black market." He looks up at her, a concerned expression on his

face as he seeks neutral ground for this conversation.

"Loilan—tell me you don't think I'm responsible for all these recent robberies."

"I can not say that. I think so, yes, it is you." He shows a trace of disappointment, looking

at him as though she wished it were not so.

"And so does your father—and the rest of my Resistance pals, "Clark counters,

tightly grasping the safety railing in both hands.

"But there's one great difference. They are furious with you. I am not."

Clark takes a deep breath and says, "Loilan, please listen carefully. Yes, I stole once, a

long time ago. I went to jail. I suffered. I paid for my crime. I'm not the same man."

"And they could not even keep you there—could they," she said, as though proud of

him?

"They" had nothing to do with it! Maybe you were too young to remember. What are you

24 now? You probably don't remember what happened, what the cost was in the lives of

good men and women. I would have thought your father had told you.

As she is about to respond the sound of a small airplane can be heard, the engine noise

increasing. They both look up at the sky, searching for the source of the noise.

Loilan turns back to Kent. "Do you really want me to believe that fairy tale? About the

German bombers who just happened to hit the prison by mistake? And set you all free,

"she says, laughing lightly.

"I can show you where some of the people in that "fairy tale" are buried," his face grim,

eyes steely, with the memory of lost lives.

"Ah yes, but you…you were smarter—as usual. You convinced them to join the

Resistance Army.

He responds heatedly, "I didn't talk anybody into joining! They each made that decision

for their own reasons. I joined because I wanted to make up for some things I'd done. To

do some good where I could. You ought to know that."

She looks harshly at him, "I don't know what you wanted. But I do know what you got—

pardons…that are not worth anything."

Loilan, they weren't pardons—they were paroles. And we fought through six years of war

to earn them! Those of us who were still alive for the graduation. "

"Those paroles don't have much value today —euh", she says maliciously?

He smiles in reluctant acknowledgment that what she says is true, and that the plane

now hunting him is further proof, "Perhaps, but the paroles haven't yet been withdrawn

from circulation."

"Hmm…So…still…no South America, eh?," said as she leans forward to provide him a

view of her décolletage, the wet of the spray making her nipples visible.

Clark slowly shakes head, indicating a no. "The Beach Club at Cannes—if you please."

She grits her teeth, eyes flashing, and shrugs. She stomps on the starter of the boat.

"Well, in that case, we should hurry. This airplane up there, much closer now, it probably

belongs to the police."

He whips his head around fast, and looks up towards the sound of the plane. The

speedboat starts, and Loilan guides it quickly forward.

They both glance backwards to see the airplane beginning to descend toward them in a

wide, sweeping circle that will bring it directly behind them. Clearly the pilot is lining up

for a fly over to see who is in the boat, looking for Kent.

Kent moves swiftly out of his seat, and slips into the small covered cabin space of the

boat. Loilan glances up and over her shoulder at the oncoming plane, while maintaining

a brisk speed. The plane sweeps down toward the speedboat, its engine noise

increasing.

As Loilan looks up at the approaching plane Kent peeks through the shutters of cabin

door. The plane zooms down, coming up fast behind the boat

"If you're caught, would you be angry with me if I pretended that I was going to give you

to the cops anyway, "she says, a sly smile on her face?

Kent looks at her and says calmly, a hint of resignation in his voice, "You're going to do

whatever you think is right."

As Kent sees the plane nearly on top of them he tell Loilan, "Good. What he comes by

again—wave to him. "

She has a sulky expression on her face, "Suppose he's not my type?"

A little irritated with her, Kent says, "Wave to him anyway! Act as if you're just another a

pretty girl out for a ride."

She moves her eyes only enough to look down at him, and then says innocently, "I

thought that maybe there was a reward for your capture. It would be silly to let a perfect

stranger profit by it."

Kent continues looking for the plane, saying, "Don't buy any new clothes with the money

yet," said as he tries to ignore her remarks. "What's he doing now?"

She looks up, turning her head to follow the plane, and with her eyes on it, she says, "He

is coming back over us." She turns back to him with a smile.

She prepares to wave at the airplane and the pilot. But she adds something of her own–

crossing her legs, and pulling her skirt up to reveal the beginnings of her underwear.

Then she waves gaily. The plane roars down behind her, passing over the boat at a very

low altitude.

Seeing what she has done, and watching the plane, he pleads, "I said pretty, not easy!

We want to get rid of them, not have him land for a date!"

As the plane's engine noise recedes Kent puts his head cautiously out of the

compartment doorway. "How much farther to the Beach Club?"

"Oh... maybe fifteen minutes, "leaving her skirt hiked, and in his line of vision.

Kent smiles at her and goes down into the compartment. He soon says to her through

the door, raising his voice over the boats engine noise, "When you get there, please pull

close in to shore and mingle with the other boats.

"And then?"

"Then I'm getting out. I'll leave my clothes with you."

Loilan smiles with mild surprise. "All of them…? And I thought you hoped to be

inconspicuous," looking him up and down, with a smirk.

Kent comes into the doorway, smiles in response to her question about his clothes and

holds out a pair of multi-colored bathing trunks.

"Nobody will ever recognize me in these, very much the tourist."

Kent, standing in the doorway, starts to unbutton his shirt. As he turns away from her in

the confined space of the compartment he doesn't notice her eyes traveling over his

bare back, down to his now revealed brief-covered buttocks, and then bare legs. He

quickly steps out of his briefs, not hearing her intake of breath as he bends to pull on the

bathing trunks.

When he turns back, expecting her to be steering the boat he sees her peering intently

at him, and then he surmises what she is thinking.

Choosing to not acknowledge the momentary awkwardness he says, "After I get on the

beach, wait until it's safe—then please bring my clothes in to the shore location you told

me about.

He starts to turn away from the doorway, then thinks of something that makes him turn

back. He speaks with mock concern.

"Oh. Uh... Loilan, sorry about that reward. "

She smiles at him sweetly. "There's still time, Le Ch…,"

He grins back at her, wagging his index finger side to side, and closes the compartment

door behind himself.

Once they are close enough to shore for him to casually join the resort swimmers he

slips over the seaward side of the boat into the surprisingly warm waters.

As he gently floats face upwards on the water he listens to the sound of other bathers

and children playing. He scans the sky but sees no sign of the police plane.

Paddling slowly until he reaches shallower water he drops his feet to the bottom, and

stands up in waist high water. He walks casually out of the water, up the beach of this up

scale Beach Club. A couple of women he passes stop what their doing to stare has his

lightly tanned, water-drenched body. He smiles politely, as any fellow guest would.

Since no one expects non guests to arrive from the sea he is assumed to be a paying

guest and is soon among the other habitues and bathers of the club.

Kent finds an open spot on the beach, and reclines on the nearly hot sand, which feels

pleasant after the cooler waters. He stares at the sky once more, seeing no plane.

Beyond him, perhaps ten feet away, the woman from the limousine is half-kneeling

under a beach umbrella. Her thick, dark mane of hair is pulled up and covered by a white

bandana, and she wears large dark glasses. The most startling thing about her, next to

her already lightly tanned, toned physique, is her simple but elegant, white, single-piece

bathing suit. She is putting sun tan oil on her shoulders and arms. Her movements are

languorous and unhurried.

Kent's eyes are not turned in her direction, but are looking the other way, as though

anticipating the arrival of someone. As he looks down from his scanning of the sky, he

now looks over the beach and its occupants until his gaze come to the striking woman

sitting close to him.

_Where do I know her from, so familiar?_

"Perhaps you could make yourself useful, I mean, if you're quite done checking the

skies, "her slightly husky voice reaches him, immediately bringing with it recognition, as

she gestures to her back and the sun tan oil.

_The woman in the car…_

Gracefully rising, he closes the distance between them, "Why mademoiselle, I would be

honored, but I must ask you a question, "as he kneels next to her, partially shielded from

the sun by her beach umbrella.

"And what might that be…," peremptorily handing him the bottle of oil, and pushing her

sunglasses up onto her head. Her face looking up at him, expressive, open, inquiring.

Now, this close to her, the oil bottle still in his unmoving hands, he sees that he has

underestimated the allure of her face, and in particular her eyes. He now realizes that

they can only be truly appreciated up close.

"Are you usually so forward with complete strangers, "now having recovered his poise he

gracefully slides around to her back, upending the bottle, a dollop of oil pools in his palm

as he prepares to apply it to her shoulders.

"Monsieur, you're not going to pretend we haven't seen each other before, "a small

laugh hovering behind her words as her eyes twinkle.

_I am curious to learn if he is something more than the wastrel I first thought. Dare I _

_hope for a charming flirtation that is without coarse, boring stupidity_

"You have me there…we do seemed to have crossed paths quite a bit recently," his

oil-slicked hands caressing her shoulders, finding them firm, not overly tense, and

exquisite in completion. He dutifully applies himself to this task as his nose steals some

unnamed scent intoxicant from her hair. He briefly wonders what it would feel like to

tightly close her in his arms, bury his face in her hair and neck. To put his arms under

her knees and shoulders, slowly rise and carry her to a secluded, shady spot on this

beach and make love to her until they were both exhausted.

Lana doesn't show her reaction to his lubricated touch, although she is experiencing a

reassuring, warm lightness from his gliding fingers, a heightened awareness of their

relative nakedness.

_This man has the touch of a sculptor, with strong but gentle hands that already seem _

_to know their way around my body._

"So, monsieur, were you just now looking for birds, or one of the mechanical kind,

perhaps, "slightly turning her face to him, one long-lashed eye in profile, looking at him.

"Yes, yes, both kinds of birds bear watching as they leave nasty surprises in your lap if

you are not alert, "his fingers now doing a bit more than applying oil as he kneads her

muscles more insistently. He thinks, but is not sure, that he can hear a nearly inaudible

groaning coming from her throat. But, assumes it must be something else, some noise

from the crowd.

_I don't have time for an idle flirtation with a spoiled, rich…and yes…yes, very definitely _

_beautiful, woman. Clark, you're a hunted man. Focus on staying out of prison._

Out of the corner of his eye Clark sees one of the young French beach attendants walk

up to him and stand waiting.

The beach attendant looks down at Kent and says quietly, "M'sieu—téléphone."

Kent rises to follow, brushing the sand from himself he reluctantly hands the bottle back

to Lana. He is standing close, over her as she looks up into his face, her eyes

expressive, her moist lips slightly parted. He has a momentary image flash before him of

her face moving toward him as he strains toward her. As he looks around at the

crowded beach he realizes that he has not heard a sound for several seconds, and that

all the crowd noises have suddenly come back alive, like a radio suddenly turned on at

high volume. A small shake of his head serves to bring him back to the moment.

"Mademoiselle, It has been my pleasure to protect you from the sun," said to her smiling

face, he flashes a smile of his own, offering her a small bow.

"Perhaps another time…" she says, leaving unspoken what that next time might offer, as

she pulls her glasses down over her eyes

As he turns to follow the attendant to the phone Lana slowly turns her head to follow his

progress up the beach. She takes in his large physique, graceful and cat-like besides the

smaller, more muscle-bound attendant. Her eyes cannot be seen, but she does not turn

back to the beach until he is out of sight.

Kent picks up a phone from the open counter. He speaks into the receiver with a muted

voice, partially covering his mouth so that only Bertani can hear him. There is the noise

around him of people getting towels, buying candy, cigarettes and refreshments.

On the other end of the call Bertani is sitting at his desk. He's looking through the office

glass partition that has now been cleaned of the egg thrown at Kent.

He speaks cautiously into the phone. "The man with the information you want will wait

for you at the entrance of the flower market in Nice. He will find you. I told him you will

be tossing a coin in the air."

As Kent listens to Bertani on the phone he doesn't notice that the attendant is making a

serious attempt to hear Kent's part of the phone conversation, as he pretends to be

arranging beach towels.

While the attendant earns handsome tips on this beach he chooses to supplement his

income by providing information to the police. In addition to a regular stipend as an

informant he can usually get out of minor legal problems by calling on his police

contacts. Now, his eyes briefly study Kent, as he listens intently.

Next: Chapitre Six, A Deal is Made


	6. Chapter 6

Chapitre Six

A Deal Is Made

Later that day Kent went to the crowded, colorful flower market in Nice. He's stands just

a little off the main crowd traffic and starts turning a coin over in his hands, as though

examining it. He then begins nonchalantly flipping the coin casually into the air, catching

it and dexterously placing it on his thumb for the next flip.

He casually looks around for the man he is supposed to meet to obtain a list of potential

jewel theft targets.

A short distance from one of the entrances to the flower market is a public phone booth.

Mercier, Lepic's subordinate is leaning against it, partially out of site as he watches Kent.

flipping the coin.

Nearby a man is bending over a flower display, examining the blossoms. He is dressed

in a light business suit, homburg hat, bow tie. This attire is a little formal for the Riviera in

the summer. Still bending over the flowers, he turns in the direction of Kent, and reveals

a friendly face over a thin mustache, and says, "Tails?"

Kent catches the coin in mid-air, and brings it down on the back of his other hand. Slowly

he lifts the palm of his hand off the coin, looks across and nods to Hughson with a grin.

The man straightens up and strolls over to Kent. "I'm H.H. Hughson—from Lloyds of

London, you can call me Harry."

"You're the man who knows who has all the good jewelry around here?" Clark asks.

"We insure most of the important pieces in this area."

"Hmm…insurance. That's gambling, isn't it?"

"A certain amount of betting—but very little gambling."

"Too bad. I had a long shot that you might have been interested in. One that would offer

a little help in getting a return for some of your losses."

"Yes, that's what Mister Bertani told me"

"Interested?"

"The proposition is certainly intriguing—albeit a little unorthodox," Harry said.

"Is that a yes, or a no, said as Kent looks at him quizzically?

Hughson looks at him for a moment and says, "Clark, have you ever been married?

"No. And what does that have to do with a yes or no question?

Hughson removes his hat and wipes the sweat band with a clean handkerchief he has

pulled from his inside pocket. "It might help you understand my problem. I have two

wives. Felicity, God bless her—and the London Home office. I must return worthy of both

of them."

"I see. And they wouldn't approve of your giving me a list of your rich clients because

you think I will use the list to steal from these people?"

"Because of your past record, which I realize has been inactive for 8 years until…, He

looks at Kent as though asking him to verify the truth of the recent Cat burglaries. When

Kent does not respond Hughson continues, "Officially, you come under the category of

"extremely bad risk".

"Uh-huh." Kent starts to move away, clearly disgusted with the direction of the

conversation. "Well, see you later, Hughson. It's always a pleasure to meet an insurance

agent who enjoys paying off big expensive claims."

Hughson trots after the fast walking Kent, until he is alongside, and says, "However,

unofficially, there's hope for you."

"Where there is money to be made or saved - I was sure there would be hope," smiling

at Hughson as he tries to keep pace with him.

"We're both taking a big chance," Hughson says, smiling back at him.

"Really? What happens to you, if I'm caught," he says, with questioning look?

"Well, I might be embarrassed. Possibly even censured officially."

"Hmm…and I could get eight years in prison, sounds about even," looking skeptically at

Hughson.

Smiling sincerely Hughson says, "Well sir, it would appear you've made a bad choice of

professions."

Acknowledging his point with a small nod, Clark says "Then let's have an understanding.

I'm doing you the favor. I take all the risks; you get all the jewelry."

"…it strikes me that only an honest man could be so foolish as to accept your end of the

deal," confirms, a more confident look now on his face.

"Thank you," he says, coming to a stop and offering a slight, mocking bow.

While they have been talking and walking Clark has continued to scan the Flower

Market. He now sees the heads of two advancing men, threading their way through the

crowd toward him.

Hughson sees where Kent is looking. Kent makes a hand gesture to him to resume the

fast pace of their walk. Hughson, understanding, keeps up with him. They talk a little

faster as their walk speeds up.

"How much of a list do you need?"

"Only the top half-dozen names."

"Anything else," Hughson asks?

"The addresses, habits—whatever you've got. Of course, descriptions of the stones and

settings." Kent looks over his shoulder once more. There is no doubt now that these are

two detectives following Kent and Hughson and are now aggressively weaving their way

through the thick crowd, getting much nearer to them.

Hughson also glances over his shoulder and sees the two men moving toward them.

"Suppose it falls into the wrong hands," he asks nervously?

"Maybe it already has, whoever is committing these thefts has good information," Kent

says as he starts to dash away. He yells back at Hughson. "Where are you staying?"

"The Carlton —Cannes."

When Kent takes off running the two detectives quickly brush past Hughson, both now

breaking into runs in pursuit of Kent. Clark is hurrying away from the two detectives. He

comes to an abrupt stop as he sees two other detectives coming from the opposite

direction. Kent quickly makes for a side aisle in the thick floral displays. As he dashes

down the aisle he suddenly collides with a man carrying freshly cut blooms in a basket

arrangement so big Kent cannot see the man behind it.

The flowers fly into the air, and shower a cascade of color. The man is knocked flat, as

Kent turns and sees that two of the detectives have run around the back of the aisle

while the other two are approaching him from the main aisle. Kent can do only one thing.

He turns, and clambers into the middle of a flower stall, trying to find a path of escape.

He doesn't quite make it, as two new detectives are rushing toward him. They and the

other four quickly close in on Kent and wrestle with him among the flower stalls. With the

other four detectives joining the struggle, all six men slowly subduing a grim, flower-

covered Kent, still fighting off the detectives. Until his attention is drawn to the face of

Lepic leaning over him, now opening his coat to show a large revolver.

"Monsieur, you will desist your struggle or we will end your career permanently," said

while he smiles casually.

Kent stops struggling. He offers a disarming smile and a shrug of the shoulders as if to

say 'you've won this one' and he is quickly handcuffed and led away.

Hughson, who had earlier been smiling in satisfaction thinking that Kent had a good

chance to escape looks up to see Kent's capture. His smile dies as he turns in dismay to

see Kent being carted away by the police.

The next day, close to lunch time, Kent and Hughson are sitting on a low stone wall

outside Kent's villa. Neither man is looking at the pleasant view of mountains and wide

expanses of green beyond. There is an ice bucket between them, holding a bottle of

champagne. Each man holds a glass, and Hughson's is empty. Kent takes the dripping

bottle out of the bucket, and pours the remains of the champagne into Hughson's empty

glass.

Hughson smiles and puts out a protesting hand to stop Kent, "Please, my dear fellow.

Not in the middle of the day.

Kent says nothing, he simply continues pouring. Hughson makes a gesture of gracious

defeat. Covetously eyeing the amber drink, and quickly bringing it to his lips for a quick

sip.

As Kent replaces the bottle Germaine, Kent's housekeeper of many years says, "Le

déjeuner est servi."

Hughson bows to a smiling Germaine, who gestures to the table set with lunch, and to

the side is a modest sized carafe with a startling bouquet of vividly colored flowers.

"Bring your glass to the table, for our lunch," Clark says as he points to a chair for

Hughson. The two men sit down for lunch. Germaine has laid a simple, but attractive,

table, with the serving table along side their lunch settings. She has moved inside the

house to get the first course.

Hughson looks around him with considerable appreciation at the clear, mild summer

day, with a light breeze occasionally blowing over them. As Kent is busy uncorking a

bottle of red wine Hughson notice how peaceful the villa seems. Not in a dull way, as

though unlived, but a sense of repose of those that have live life well.

As Hughson glances around, he sees Kent's cat sleeping in a nearby chair. Hughson

turns back to Kent. He gestures toward the sleeping cat. "Under the present

circumstances, do you think it pays to advertise? "

Kent looks at the cat fondly. "He hasn't left the Villa in years. And Noir is completely

faithful and trustworthy, "casting a questioning look at Hughson.

"Clark, you do know that you were quite lucky that the magistrate saw fit to give you the

ten days ruling, to allow you to assemble sufficient evidence to exonerate your self, "

Hughson said, tipping his glass upward, as he noticed several birds fluttering around a

nearby shrub.

"Well, it's a nice custom they have in France—offering me provisional liberty based on

insufficient evidence, but the clock is running on my freedom," he smiled ruefully, "but I

still need to get proof that I'm innocent."

Kent has pulled the cork from the wine bottle and is now pouring some for both of them.

Germaine arrives with the first meal course, placing the cups of consommé in front of

them, smiles and leaves.

"Do you like the place, the villa" Clark asks, placing his napkin on his lap and his spoon

into the consommé?

"Immensely. It's kind of a travel–folder heaven—where a man dreams he'll go when he

retires. Well, truth be told, where I would dream of retiring. You have done it right for

yourself, old man."

Clark smile, nodding in agreement, as the two men eat and drink wordlessly for a few

moments.

"Now about that list of your clients…those that have jewelry worth stealing."

Hughson in the act of sipping his wine, lowers his glass, and looks away with

uncertainty. He continues to be worried about this plan, about the financial exposure his

company will risk to implement it. He wants very much to trust Kent, indeed, he already

does. But, some sense of professional caution makes him hesitate.

Kent assumes a philosophical expression. "I don't want to seem impatient, Hughson—

but in ten days I have to come up with something pretty convincing for that examining

magistrate, " said with a smile.

While Clark is speaking Germaine enters and takes away the soup cups.

"Bertani said you were something of a celebrity in the Underground Army," Hughson

says questioningly.

Clark rises from the table, and moves over to the edge of the terrace, looking out over

the view. "Yes, I was in the Resistance."

With almost boyish eagerness Hughson asks, with a smile forming on his lips, " Did

you—uh—kill many people?"

Kent says without hesitation, "Seventy-two. And, I remember every one," a neutral stare

offered to Hughson." There is no hint of bragging or pride, simply a mere statement of

fact. Hughson thinks he sees some whisper of pain visible in Kent's eyes, but it is quickly

gone.

Hughson, who is eating part of a roll, chews on it thoughtfully, uncomfortable with what

he's just heard. While he had service in the military during the war he saw little action as

he was attached to a supply company, mostly behind friendly lines.

"Harry, I know what would have pleased you," Clarks says, his voice lighter than before.

Hughson stops chewing, attentive to what Kent will say.

"Not one of them was insured," said sardonically. Hughson smiles back at Kent's little

joke.

Hughson is surprised that he has begun to develop quite a liking for Kent despite his

questionable background. The man somehow inspires respect without seeming to ask

for it. He smiles at Clark to help dispel the gloominess of the last topic.

Pausing a moment in thought, Hughson then asks, "You're a man of obvious good taste

in everything." He gestures to the lunch table, and the surrounding villa and its lovely

view. "How did you—well, why did you..."

Kent takes a step or two towards him and says, "Take up stealing?"

"Yes," looking relieved that he didn't have to say it.

"When I was younger I had this idea that having things could somehow make me happy,

pausing for a moment before saying, "I wanted to live better—to own things I couldn't

afford—to acquire this good taste you now enjoy," a twinkle in he eyes.

Hughson is a little disturbed as he asks, "You mean you were frankly dishonest?"

Kent approaches the table, still looking at Hughson struggling to understand Clark's

world view. At the same time, Germaine appears, carrying a Quiche Lorraine and two

hot plates.

"If you can call a man dishonest who climbs the outside of a five story building, who cuts

his way through a glass skylight and escapes over the rooftops with a small fortune in

jewels stolen from bigger thieve than he. Those that got their wealth from war profits,

squeezed from the blood of untold innocents. Well, then, yes sir. Dishonest—that is what

you would call me."

Germaine lays out the hot plates, and slices the Quiche Lorraine, glancing at Clark to

see if he wants a larger portion. He nods a 'no thank you', with a smile.

Hughson throws Kent a warning glance concerning Germaine's presence. Kent smiles,

shakes his head for Hughson not to worry about her. He turns and gives her a quick

peck on the cheek, and she returns his smile as though he were her favorite son.

"So, no tale of hardship —your mother ran off when you were young…beaten as a child,

the entire tale of woe…?"

"No. I was part of an American trapeze act in a circus that traveled to Europe. It folded,

and I was stranded. So, I put my agility to a more rewarding purpose, "he gestures

gracefully toward the villa roof, to suggest climbing into buildings.

Germaine holds out the dish to Hughson, who takes his cut portion. She looks at Kent,

offering him a choice of slices, from which he selects one. She smiles once again and

leaves the terrace.

Kent says, "I think you'll enjoy that, Harry. It's a Quiche Lorraine. Hughson takes a bite,

and murmurs appreciatively.

"Would it be fair to say —you were sort of a modern Robin Hood? I mean, you gave

away most of the proceeds of your crimes?

"No. I kept half for myself. The other half went to families that the war had brought low.

Those that had men and women who stood beside me in our efforts…but did not come

home. Even keeping half made me an out-and-out thief—like you. During this, Kent has

moved over to the table. He sits down as he finishes talking.

Hughson is a little shocked. "Now look here—Kent, " suddenly in his pique wanting to get

more formal, to rebut this insult.

Kent interrupts, with an innocent expression. "Ever shortchange the butcher, by

mistake?"

Hughson's annoyance diminishes somewhat. "Well, if a man makes a mistake in

counting— "

Kent jumps in quickly, "But you didn't take the money back?" And then before Hughson

can answer he says, "Of course not. Ever take an ashtray from a hotel? Or a towel?"

"Souvenirs—they expect that. But— "

"Of course they do. Are you going to deduct this free lunch from your expense account?"

Kent smiles mischievously at this. Hughson opens his mouth to speak.

"Harry, of course you're not going to do that. It would be stupid."

Hughson takes a long drink of the wine, and as he drinks, appears visibly relieved. As

soon as he puts down the glass, Kent hastens to refill it.

"Do you agree with my point, Harry?

"Yes. "

Kent says gently, but quickly, "You're a thief, too."

Hughson sits back in his chair and stares unbelievingly at Kent.

"Only an amateur thief, of course—but it might help you have some sympathy for what

we professionals have to go through."

Still a little stunned from what Kent had said, and a little bit from the wine, Hughson

says, "I don't think I understand fully—"

"Look at it this way. You're sorry you shortchanged the butcher, or took an ashtray from

a hotel, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, right now, since you've put me on the spot, "a reluctant smile on his face.

"And someday you'll be sorry for not deducting this lunch from your expense account. "

"I can't possibly deduct every little item from my expense account. I frankly couldn't

spare the time."

"Someday you'll wish you had. I'm sorry for ever starting in crime—I look back with

disgust at every job I pulled —I have since paid out more in regret than I ever took in

precious stones—but that doesn't help, because I'll never stop paying for it. The world

won't let me. Every time an ashtray is missing from a hotel they don't come looking for

you—but let a diamond bracelet disappear in France, and they shout Clark Kent, The

Cat! You don't have to prove your honesty every day of your life. I do.

He takes a drink of the wine. Then smiles pleasantly at Hughson as though his situation

is of little consequence.

"Now Harry, shall we get down to business—the list? "

Hughson's hand hesitates as it reaches for his pocket.

"Something bothering you?

Hughson says, after a pause, "I told the police what you were going to do."

"I didn't expect them to like the arrangement," as one eyebrow arched.

"Well, you are wrong. They seemed to think it was a splendid idea."

Kent is quiet for a moment as he thinks.

"Umm…they, of course, hope you'll make a mistake—and provide them with the

evidence they need against you."

"It had to be something like that." Clark holds out his hand for the list. "Come on,

Hughson, we're wasting time."

Hughson reaches a little nervously into his pocket. He takes out some folded papers,

passes them to Kent. Kent takes them eagerly, opens them, scans the names and

information. Hughson watches him apprehensively. Kent mumbles and nods

appreciatively at what he reads.

"Quite a thorough job you've done. Have some wine, Harry old boy."

Hughson automatically reaches for a wine glass, starts to sip some wine. "Tell me how

you plan to operate?"

"Well, The Cat has crept into every place but Cannes. He's due there." Kent consults the

list noticing a good target to start with, tapping his finger on the name listed. "I think my

first bait for The Cat will be this Mrs. Lang—the American woman with the diamonds,

and the adopted daughter. Clark looks up from the list and asks, "Do you know them?"

"I'm having dinner with them tomorrow. Would you like an introduction?" He said, with an

questioning expression. "The daughter is absolutely lovely, but a bit of a bored, strong-

headed rich girl, if you know what I mean"?

"Hmm…no, what exactly do you mean, Harry," turning slightly toward him?

"From what I've read in the gossip columns and heard she seems to have been chased

with equal ardor by both rich men and those that wished they were. Rarely has she been

the pursuer, and those seem to end quickly. An acquaintance of mine said she over

heard this Lana Lang say that a particular man she had just started seeing was

exquisite, like some walking artwork, and then…"Harry paused as though trying to

remember the details of the story.

"Yes, and then…",Clark prompted him.

"And then he talked…, "Harry smiled at the idea, "Once this Adonis opened his mouth to

say more that a few words our dear Miss Lang's enthusiasm flickered and died."

"Sounds like a tough critic, "Clark said, smiling.

"Apparently she has found all of them wanting, and some of them left with less than they

started with."

"Left with less of their money or…, "Clark said, now genuinely curious about

this not easily satisfied young woman.

"Oh, nothing to do with money, she and her aunt Nell have all they will need in this

life time," Harry paused as he took a sip of his wine, "no, this is more about them

wanting her to commit emotionally, to care for them…humph…and I dare say, sexually.

Apparently the dear girl only found short comings in her suitors wherever she looked –

whether they were wealthy or not, " Harry shook his head a couple of times, " I can't

imagine what it is the young lady is looking for, "said as he brought his finger tip to his

chin in thought, as though this mystery could be solved like one of his insurance

investigations.

"Well, it sounds like this should be an interesting evening,"Clark said ruefully,

"with these two worthy woman. "

"So, Clark, back to introductions to the formidable Lang women, "a smile on his face,

"shall I arrange one for you?"

"Hughson–in this business you can't do things the honest way. Remember that." Then

he looks at Hughson's nearly full plate and says, my dear Mr. Hughson, you're not

eating," a small smile on Clark's face.

Hughson had lost some of his appetite while he contemplated the risk in this adventure

with the former– well, he hoped Clark had truly retired – international jewel thief.

With a thoughtful expression on his face, Kent carefully folds the list and puts it in his

pocket, and sits quietly for a moment thinking of the night ahead.

Kent's cat stirs and begins to stretch itself. It stands up, arches its back. Then it jumps to

the floor and starts to move away, going about its business.

Next: Casino, and the Kiss


	7. Chapter 7

Chapitre Sept

Casino, and the Kiss

That evening the prestigious Carlton hotel is host to an attractive group of three people

seated at a table that shows the empty dishes of a well enjoyed meal. As they await the

coffee they have requested, Hughson -now wearing a tuxedo- is chatting amiably with

the two Lang women. Nell, Lana's middle-aged aunt, has just found something Hughson

said very funny, and has thrown her head back in a raucous laugh.

Lana is displaying more moderate enjoyment of his wit, with a small, appreciative smile

on her face.

Both women are extremely well-dressed, with well made, expensive clothes in evidence.

The older woman is conspicuous by a display of jewelry worn around her neck, earrings,

and on both wrists. The younger, quieter woman wears not a single piece of jewelry.

There is nothing to distract from the full force of her beauty.

"Nell, wouldn't it be better if you left some of those jewels back in the hotel safe," he

says, a worried note creeping into his voice, as he thinks of his company's liability should

the jewelry be lost or stolen.

Nell puts out a cigarette she has been smoking in her coffee cup. "Stop acting like

insurance the agent that you are sweetie. I didn't buy these things for my old age—I

bought them to wear," offering him a mildly mocking smile.

The waiter comes to the table with the check. Hughson reaches for his wallet, starting to

reach for the check. Nell holds up her hand to stop him. She reaches over and takes the

check from the serving tray, along with the waiter's pen.

"Keep your money, Hughson. You can cheat a little on your expense account." At this

comment Hughson looks across the room, thinking that Kent would be amused if he had

heard Nell's comment.

He smiles his thanks to Nell for her paying for the meal. Looking past Nell, his attention

is drawn to a group of people who are rising to leave the dining room. He sees them tip

the headwaiter, who then bows obsequiously and escorts them toward the door. As they

move out of his line of vision he sees Clark Kent sipping his coffee at the far side of the

room.

Hughson shows slight surprise, which he quickly controls. He glances towards Nell as

she is signing the check, and Lana is busy putting things back into her small purse.

Nell pushes her chair back getting ready to go as she says, "Well, come on, let's go over

to the Casino, looking from Hughson to Lana, "I want to hit the gambling tables while

they're hot."

As the waiter moves behind her to assist with the chair Lana says, "Why don't you just

mail them the money," said with a mocking tone, "wouldn't that be more direct"?

When Nell stands Hughson helps drape a stole around her shoulders. She stops for a

moment, noticing someone across the room.

Kent has gotten up from his table, and is walking easily toward the entrance door,

through an aisle of empty tables.

Still looking, Nell comments, "Now that is a handsome man".

As Lana stands she turns and looks toward Kent, saying, "Nell, why don't you…"

Lana is cut off by Nell saying, "Want me to buy that for you?"

Lana turns back with a look of annoyance and now gets good look at the man Nell has

been talking about.

_Can that be the same man…the roadway…the restaurant…the beach…what?_

"Umm…maybe Mr. Hughson doesn't care for gambling, " Lana, says as her mind is

trying to figure out what it means that she keeps running into this man.

Just as Hughson is about to add his thoughts on gambling Nell interrupts, "Everybody

likes to gamble—one way or another." She starts away from the table and then pauses

slightly, and says over her shoulder, "Even you."

Lana and Hughson follow her. Lana casts a quick glance at Clark as she drags her coat

along carelessly by one hand. "I have an intense dislike for the idea of gambling."

Nell smiles, placing a hand on Lana's shoulder as she says, "Lana, baby—when the

stakes are right—you'll gamble. "

Hughson's looks closely at Nell as he thinks that she is worthy of admiration for her

rough but practical philosophy. When the three of them are walking along toward the

entrance Nell looks around her to see if she can spot Kent. She see him speaking with

one of the hotel desk clerks standing by a jeweler's show case. The clerk is opening the

glass doors and taking out a piece of jewelry.

"Handsome over there's seems to be looking at some of the hotel jewelry. What do you

think, Harry, "said as she glance at Hughson, " that stuff is not even worth insuring, is it?"

"Hardly."

They walk along until they are opposite Kent, and can see he is examining the piece of

jewelry, and speaking to the desk clerk. His voice is raised a shade higher than it need

be.

"Imitation? Really? You mean costume jewelry? What do you know! The things they

make these days. Why you can hardly tell it from the real thing. Better than anything we

have back in Portland, Oregon.

Without looking back, Nell comments out of earshot of Kent, " Almost everything is."

When the three of them pass from the dining area toward the gambling tables Kent

quickly thanks the desk clerk, who puts the jewelry back in the case. Kent follows behind

them.

Entering the plush, ornately decorated casino Kent see more than a dozen tables with

roulette, dice, Baccarat, cards and other games of chance. Kent stops at the roulette

table, with its wheel now spinning, looking across the table at Hughson, Nell and Lana.

The house croupier and the watcher sit to the right of Nell. Amid the hubbub and the

cries of the croupier, and the click of the ball, and the rattle of chips Nell says, I knew I

shouldn't have stopped here. Baccarat's my game. She glances as Lana and says, "Why

did you let me get so close to this whirling pickpocket, anyway?"

Seeing Nell's excitement, Lana and Hughson exchange glances of amusement as Nell

watches the wheel spin and the ball drop.

The croupier announces, "Vingt-trois. Le numero vingt-trois gagne la mise. "

Nell slumps a little in disappointment and not winning, "Wouldn't you know! Twenty-

three. The numero twenty - three earns the bet"

"Shall we move along, Nell, Hughson asks?"

The croupier calls for the bets, "Faites vos jeux. Faites vos jeux. "

Nell holds up one remaining stack of chips, "Let me get rid of these, just two more

spins." As she turns to place her bets, something catches her eye.

Standing on the other side of the table, and down a little from her, Kent is just about to

place a chip on a number. He picks a number, never looking at Nell.

The croupier calls out, "Rien ne va plus. No more bets, "as he spins the wheel.

"Don't be so glum Harry—just think, if I win I buy jewelry, looking at him with a smirk on

her face she adds, "If I buy jewelry, you get another policy and a commission. "

"Ouch. And that's why I'm what they call a "good loser", she says wryly. Immediately she

starts placing their last chips down for the next bet. [/size]

At the other side of the table, Kent is standing with a large rectangular chip poised in the

air. He seems to be looking over the choice of numbers to bet on. Seated in front of him

is an attractive, well-dressed Frenchwoman. For the briefest moment, Kent looks across

at Nell and Lana.

Kent's eyes look down over the woman's shoulder in front of him. The Frenchwoman's

cleavage is hugely revealing, displayed within a low cut design. Kent holds the chip

casually between his thumb and finger. He moves his hand with the chip slowly forward,

as though about to place it on a number.

Lana occasionally glances over at Clark, not wanting to make her interest appear

obvious. Looking away from Kent, she turns to watch Nell in the middle of selecting her

last number. Nell is leaning over to place her last stack of chips on a number when there

is a sudden startled female cry. When Nell and Lana look up quickly, as do the other

people around them they see the buxom Frenchwoman has her hands clasped to her

bosom, and is looking pointedly at an obviously embarrassed Kent.

The betting stops momentarily as people around the table are wondering why the

woman let out the short scream.

Kent says to the Frenchwoman, "I'm sorry, madam, I—! He looks around helplessly, his

hands up in the air in a gesture of awkward embarrassment.

Nell and Hughson, and others around them can hardly keep from smiling at his

confusion. Lana stares intently at Kent, the hint of a smile on her face, wondering how

much of what just happened was an accident.

The Frenchwoman looks up at Kent and says, "Ne vous excusez pas, Monsieur. Ce

n'est pas bien grave. "Then she smiles and switches to fluent English, "Don't apologize,

Mister, it's not so serious."

She turns back to resume the play, as though the matter is settled. Unfortunately, Kent

does not have his 10,000 franc chip, which is nestled somewhere in the woman's

bosom.

He stands, his fingers poised in an undecided way, "But Madame—", He turns and looks

helplessly to the croupier to for assistance, "That was a ten thousand franc chip!"

Now, most of the customers at the table including the Lang group are finding it difficult to

control their laughter. The croupier, with a well-controlled expression, leans across and

addresses the French-woman with a smile, "Madame, ce monsieur dit il s'agit d'une

plaque de dix mille francs, "he offers her a slight bow and continues in English, "Madam,

this gentleman said it is a chip of ten thousand francs."

The Frenchwoman glances up at Kent as he looks at her with an expectant expression,

his fingers slowly waving in the air as though he were ready to start rummaging in her

cleavage for the chip.

Moving his hand slightly toward her bosom, "If you'd rather not take my word— ," he

says apologetically, but seeming to be serious about retrieving the chip by any means

necessary.

Blushing heavily, while at the same time flirtatiously batting her eyelashes, she reaches

for her pile of chips and counts a stack off, handing him ten thousand francs' worth of

chips.

Kent immediately puts his hands by his sides, and then slowly picks up the chips she

has offered. "And I'll trust you, too, Madam. I won't count them," said with a small bow

and a smile.

Nell is laughing heartily now. Kent sees Nell enjoying his discomfiture. He responds with

a smile and a little laugh, his eyes flicker to take in Lana observing him, and then he

looks back to Nell.

Soon after, as Nell, Lana and Harry are leaving the roulette table they walk past Kent.

Nell is still smiling at the chip incident. When Kent see her he turns to her with a smile,

which she returns.

"You sir, are an amusing man, would you care you join us for a drink in the bar," Nell

says indicating Lana and Harry.

"I would be delighted," he says, a quick glance toward Lana, and accompanies them to

the bar, where they find it empty except for another group of four and a laughing couple

sitting up at the bar.

As they are shown to a table Lana glances casually at Kent, observing the way he

moves, and carries himself, his seeming ease with an affluent life style.

_He is quite the handsome devil, and so much more charming than I first thought…_

When the foursome is seated Kent chooses the chair between Nell and Lana, with

Hughson opposite Nell. Soon, three of them have drunk most of a bottle of Champagne,

with glasses in front of each person, while Nell has a bottle of bourbon and a straight

shot glass in front of her.

Sounding a bit drunk Nell says,"If Dean, my husband was only alive—he'd think all of

this running about from Palm Springs, to St. Moritz to the Riviera—he'd think all of it was

foolishness. Or, as he used to say," I wouldn't be one of them silly society snobs if they

promised me I could live forever."

She picks up the bourbon bottle, starts to pour a straight shot, "Well—he got his wish,"

as she pours. Holding the glass up to the light she looks across to Kent sitting next to

Lana. "Where did you say you came from, Mr. Burns?

Kent responds pleasantly, "Oregon."

Lana says quietly, almost under her breath, "the Rogue River."

_And how much of a rouge are you Mr. Burns?"_

Nell says, "you know, Dean would have liked you. A man with both feet on

the ground. That's what he was like. Unfortunately for him—he never knew how

valuable the ground was he had his feet on. We had a ranch—it wasn't very big, you

see," she broadly gestures with her hands.

Lana interrupts her, "Nell, please, isn't it time— "

"Mr. Burns will be very interested. We had a ranch. It was a constant struggle to eek out

a living. And then, right under our feet was salvation, "she pauses for dramatic effect,

"Dean never knew how close he came to twenty million barrels of oil."

Kent laughs, as does Hughson, both the men exchanging looks that say things are going

well. Even Lana can't hold back her smile, although she has heard this story more than a

few times.

Nell quickly finishes the remaining bourbon in glass and puts it down. "Bourbon's the

only drink. Why wait eighty years before you can drink champagne? Great vineyards,

huge barrels, aging forever—monks running around testing it—shippers, waiters—all so

some woman in Oklahoma can say it tickles her nose."

Lana looks at Nell, thinking that the older woman may have had all she can handle to

drink. "I think we'd better go to bed, auntie."

"Nobody calls me Nell anymore," she says, ignoring the fact that everyone has been call

her Nell, "Mr. Burns—would you call me Nell?"

"I'd be happy to," he says with a smile.

.

""Mr. Burns, "she asks, changing the subject, "you said you were in lumber?"

"That's right."

"Trying to focus her eyes to see Kent clearly, it is clear from her expression that she is

trying to answer some question when he says slowly , "How come you haven't made a

pass at my niece?"

She quickly turns to Lana before she can respond and says, "And don't say "auntie" to

me," imitating Lana's admonishing tone. [/size]

Kent glances at Lana in puzzlement, and sees a slightly bemused expression on her

face. And the look of someone waiting for an answer. He thinks…

_I would love to kiss those full lips of hers, to lift that lithe body up into a tight _

_embrace…but…do I need such a distraction? Well, perhaps more than a _

_distraction…very much more…but still not good business…_

"Mr. Burns—I asked you a question," Nell asks pointedly.

"She's very pretty. Quietly attractive." he says, his voice now has a slightly different tone,

one of greater sincerity than previously.

_If I could speak the truth I'd say she was devastatingly beautiful…but not tonight_

Nell quickly says, "But too nice, correct? I'm sorry I ever sent her to finishing school,"

A knowing smirk on her face as she glances at Clark and Harry, "I think they finished her

there."

Lana slowly rises, seemingly not disturbed, a resigned look on her face, she has had a

few too many nights like this to be seriously annoyed.

"Come on, Nell, dear, we should get some rest."

Nell responds by rising, but a little unsteady. Hughson quickly puts out an arm to steady

her elbow.

"And so up to bed—where I can cuddle up to my jewelry, Nell says. "

She turns to Hughson. "You know, Mr. Hughson—Harry, as rare and wonderful as they

are—I think I'd rather have eighty thousand dollars worth of Deans instead of these

rocks."

Kent stands to help Lana on with her wrap, leaning slightly into her hair to gather her

scent, his fingertips seem unnaturally sensitive, aware of every inch he touches as they

glide down her covered, but warm shoulders. She does not move away from his touch.

As Hughson helps Nell on with her stole he says, "Well, I think I'll toddle along to bed,

good night all."

Clark turns to Lana, looking her in the eyes and says, "I'd be happy to escort you to your

suite."

"That's very thoughtful of you…," a hint of a smile on her lips.

_Hmm…two can play at this game of not being interested…I see a light in his eyes…am _

_I right…we will see…_

As they start walking toward the elevators to take them to their suites Nell asks, "Do you

make much money at lumber, Mr. Burns?"

"Right now building is booming, Clark says confidently."

Nell thinks this over and responds, "Mmmm hmm. Would you mind terribly—if I had

you—investigated—just a little bit, huh?" offering him a mischievous grin.

"Certainly not. Is there any particular reason you want to do so," he asks curiously?

"If I were Lana's age—you'd sound too good to be true." Kent smiles at her comment

,glancing at Lana, but sees no reaction in her face.

Soon, Nell, Kent and Lana are walking down corridor and they stop at the door to Nell's

room. Nell is unsteady on her feet. Without even trying to use the key, she hands it to

Kent. He takes it and quickly opens the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Burns—there is very little lumber around here, I mean, certainly none on hotel grounds. Just why did you come to the Riviera anyway?"

"To meet someone as charming as you," he says, offering her a small bow.

Nell turns in doorway and says, "Boy! Now I am going to have you investigated!" She

chuckles and starts to close the door behind her.

Kent turns to Lana, gesturing at the closing door, aren't you going in?"

Lana starts to move away, "I'm down the other end," said as she slowly walks toward her

room.

The door closes behind Nell. Kent turns and walks after Lana, with him following and

then walking along side her. There arms lightly brush each other as they walk in silence

for quite a way down the corridor. He is aware of their height difference, the scent of her

perfume, the swaying cascade of her hair, and the swish of her nylon clad legs. And

something else, something that has created a pleasant feeling he has not felt in many

years. A sense of undefined but welcomed anticipation.

They pass several doors until Lana stops at her room door which leads into a suite.

She puts her key in the lock, opens the door and starts to pass through the door, tossing

her wrap onto a chair inside the room. Clark is a little surprised when she stops in the

open doorway, and turns to look back at him. She studies him for a moment with a calm

expression, but her eyes are searching his face. Then she quickly steps forward and

presses her lips to his, her hands sliding up his chest and to the back of his neck.

Clark finds himself immediately responding to her, as though they have done this many

times before, his arms going around her shoulders, and then cupping her face, his body

pressing against hers, while she seems to have insinuated herself between his legs. He

feels his pulse accelerating, heart pounding and an urgency he has not felt in a long

while.

_Mmm…she taste like sun-drenched wine…and…just as intoxicating…_

His hands go to her hips, squeezing through the sheer fabric, holding her fast to his

body. He moves both of them a few inches, so that her back is against the wall, as he

presses between her legs, slowly…slowly parting them

Lana has opened her mouth, inviting his tongue in with the tip of her own. She had only

planned to give him a passionate but brief kiss and then retreat into her room. Now,

some part of her she thought steely and capable of control is beginning to falter, her

body hardly listening any longer to her head.

Then some part of her begins to come out of the haze of excitement she has been

feeling from his kiss, his touch.

_I know so little about this man…not here…not like this…_

Slowly, reluctantly she pulls first her lips away, then her face back far enough to see an

expression on his face somewhere between bemused and bewitched. She smiles as

though she knows a secret, and then pushes him slowly away away, turns, enters the

doorway and closes it behind her. Kent stands and stares at the blank door for long

moments, his body still feeling her touch, as though she were near instead of behind the

stubbornly closed door.

When he turns to leave there is a thoughtful look on his face, and a lipstick smear across

his lips. He holds his hand out in front of him and sees a mild tremor.

_What happened to the nerves of steel The Cat is supposed to have…?_

He turns away, and retraces his steps slowly up the hall, taking a handkerchief out of his

pocket to wipe off the lipstick and holds it up to his nose, detecting some subtle trace of

Lana still there. He smiles.

As he reaches the door to Nell's room he slows down and looks thoughtful. He turns

away and goes a few steps down the corridor. He stops at an opening to his left and

studies a short corridor leading off the main one. It ends in a set of French windows

leading to a balcony.

Having regained his composure after the kiss, Kent glances about him cautiously for a

moment, and then opens the French windows and moves out onto the small balcony,

now in partial moonlight.

He begins an expert appraisal of the exterior of the building, looking for ways to gain

access to the rooms. He looks up to his left at wall of the hotel above the Lang' suite.

down a break in the wail, showing pipes and a facade that would offer footholds, a way

to climb to the suite.

Kent looks thoughtfully at the hotel wall, and then swings his gaze up and to the right.

He looks to the street below, which is street deserted, except for a solitary figure of a

policeman standing near a street light.

Kent steps back until he blends with the shadows against the wall behind him. Thinking.

Next: Chapitre Huit - Theft, Beach and the Two LLs Meet


	8. Chapter 8

To Catch A Thief, Chapitre Huit

The next morning Kent was on his way to Nell's suite, in response to Lana's request to

join her, when he ran into Hughson on the elevator.

"The Cat made an appearance last night, "Hughson says sadly.

"How much did he get away with," Kent says to a distressed looking Hughson as they

are ushered into the suite by Nell, who appears calm as she offers both men a partial

smile.

Hughson closes the door behind him, and comes into the room. He puts his hat on a

small table in the sitting room.

"The gems, belonging to a Madame Leroux , were insured for thirty-five thousand

dollars, "Hughson says to Nell, while glancing meaningfully at Kent.

Nell shrugs, "Somebody wins—somebody loses."

She is in tasteful dressing gown. She wears a couple of expensive rings on her fingers,

and earrings. As she lights her cigarette there is a distracted look on her face. The stolen

jewelry has reminded her how fleeting are the pleasures of these baubles.

Near where Kent is sitting is a portable tea service, with the remains of a petit déjeuner

for two on it. Kent, watching Nell pace, is dressed in casual sport clothes, sitting on a

settee, with his legs crossed at the ankles.

Kent offers a show of sympathy, "Hughson, I sympathize with you—having to send bad

news like that to your home office," his tone has the very slightest hint of mockery, only

detectable if one were listening for it.

Which Hughson is, as he looks at Kent slowly, some annoyance coming into his

expression, "Unfortunately, I personally insured Madame Leroux, the owner of the

jewels."

Kent gives him a friendly smile, "Well, at least you know that the burglar—uh—what is it

they call him? The—uh—"

Hughson's glance at Kent is cold and unfriendly. "They call him 'The Cat' ."

Hearing this Kent looks thoughtful, pretending that this is new information, and is

important to him.

"Yes, that's the name I've heard. Well, now you know he's here in Cannes," he smiles at

Hughson, " and apparently getting closer."

Hughson gives Kent an uncomfortable look. Then he says to Nell, "Mrs. Lang—this

might be a warning for us all. Would you consider—would you kindly keep your jewelry

in the hotel safe?

Nell turns from the window, walks past the breakfast tray and snubs her cigarette

stub out in an uneaten fried egg, "And what do I do, Mr. Hughson—wear the safe around

my neck when I go out?

Hughson say, slightly embarrassed, "Well, not literally. It's just that—"

"That your insurance company goes into shock every time something's stolen. If you

haven't any guts, you shouldn't have taken my bet. That's what it was—a bet. Now, do

you want to get out of the obligation?"

"If your jewels are stolen, you'll be paid, of course. But we couldn't replace the sentiment

and affection you have for those particular pieces."

"Mr. Hughson, I have no more "affection" for those jewels than I have for a train ticket

that gets me somewhere."

She lights another cigarette, and advances on Hughson, smoke puffing out behind her

like a train. "They're pretty, and they get attention. But most of all, they make it possible

for my niece to go to the right places without being ashamed of me, "She turns away.

"I can feel for the poor victim. I would not like the idea of someone invading my private

place, while I'm sleeping, "she says, her eyebrows arched in concern, "it's not the

money, but someone tip toeing around while I'm in dreamland does not make for a

peaceful sleep."

Kent listens to Nell with a sympathetic smile on his face, while nodding, "No one would

find it comfortable to have their sleep disturbed, "he says encouragingly.

While she is pacing he gets up and strolls to one of the windows. He parts the curtain

slightly and looks at the street below and sees a man in civilian clothes talking to another

man in a police uniform. They are too far to make out their faces, but the man in civilian

clothes bears a resemblance to Lepic's associate, Mercier. The two men separate and

take up stations at different ends of the hotel.

At that moment, Lana Lang enters the room from the hallway leading to her bedroom.

She wears a lightly colored robe. They all turn to face her.

"Good morning, Mr. Hughson."

With a slight bow Hughson says, "Good morning, Miss Lang."

"And good morning to you Mr. Burns," she says, glad to see him.

Clark gives her a neutral look and asks, "You sent for me?"

"I thought we might go for a swim this morning, or if you're not athletic, sun bathing."

Smiling slightly at her little joke, he says, "I think I can manage to stay afloat, thank you."

Nell says, "Mr. Hughson's been telling us about 'a jewel robbery last night—after we

went to bed."

Lana turns to Hughson, "Oh? Who was robbed?"

Hughson unhappily repeats what he said earlier, "A wife of a high Government official.

About thirty-five thousand dollars worth of jewelry was stolen."

"Hmm…too bad, Lana says, looking at Hughson, "you should find a happier business."

"It seems to have been that famous jewel thief—The Cat, Nell adds, " he seems to be

stalking his prey again."

Lana says jokingly, "Well auntie, that means you're next."

Nell smiles and shrugs philosophically, "I'm insured," and looks at Hughson, who has a

pained expression on his face.

Kent's expression seems to sympathize with Hughson problem. Then he slightly shrugs

and turns his attention to Lana.

"I'd better get my bathing trunks and meet you in the lobby." he says.

Smiling at him, Lana says, "All right. I'll just throw on something unusual and be down in

a few minutes."

"Yes…that sounds good," he says, wondering what 'unusual means to Lana, "I'll see you

downstairs."

"Well, goodbye, Mrs. Lang, Nell. And good hunting to you, Hughson." Kent says as he

opens the door. Before he can leave Hughson hurries over to speak with him.

"Oh, just a minute, Mr. Burns. Uh—weren't we weren't we —going to—to—?"

Acting puzzled Clark asks pleasantly, "Sorry, what?"

Hughson is confused by Kent's lack of cooperation. He is caught between an impulse to

just tell the Lang's who Kent is, and irritated at what he thinks is Kent's biting sense of

humor, which he finds amusing in a painful sort of way.

"Well, last night–didn't we discuss, " he gets a sudden idea to try and use a code to get

Kent to understand and cooperate, "—going up on the explore…the …funicular railway? "

Kent says, seemingly uncertain, "Frankly Mr. Hughson, I can't even spell funicular."

Hughson is getting a little desperate, and tries another approach, "Well, what are you

…going to do this afternoon?"

Kent reaches for the list in his pocket, " I went down to see the Estate Agents and waves

it in front of Hughson, "They gave me a list of furnished villas for rent."

Lana seems interested in his comment, "Oh, do you plan that long a vacation, that you

might remain here?" Turning her gaze on him, "Have you found something of interest

that could persuade you to settle down?"

"Hmm…settle…well, it remains to be seen what develops before that decision becomes

final. But, I am considering retiring here someday ." His use of the word 'retiring' suggest

more than one meaning. He continues, as he consults the list, "of course, they say some

of these villas aren't in too good repair. For example, many of the roofs need careful,

close examination, you actually have to get on them, put significant weight and pressure

on them to ensure that they are sound, and won't suddenly cave in.

Hughson looks at Kent with exasperation that is dangerously near the exploding point.

Nell ignores Hughson's discomfort, and smiling at Lana and Clark she gently guides

Kent out the door. "You kids get out of here, and go have some fun. Lana will be right

down, Clark."

Kent smiles at her as he starts out the door. It is obvious from Hughson expression that

he still doesn't see anything funny about the situation, and Kent's humor. Before Kent

closes the door he turns and looks back to Hughson.

"Don't let it spoil your day, Mr. Hughson. It's only money —and not even yours, at that."

When Kent sees Hughson's small pointed mustache twitch in frustration he quickly

closes the door with a smile.

A little later, Clark is waiting for Lana downstairs in the plush Carlton lobby. He sees the

elevator open and Lana steps out. He's pleasantly surprised at the sexy, yet classy outfit

she's wearing.

As she steps away from the elevator he sees the gossamer, slinky robe that clings to her

body, which does little to hide her lithe figure. Her pert but modest breasts are shown to

advantage, along with well toned, lightly tanned legs. He's just the smallest bit

concerned that this outfit might be a bit too striking even for the modern thinking, 1950's

Riviera.

Lana walks up to him with an expectant look and says, "Shall I ask the social director to

introduce us," a small smile quickly forms on her lips.

"Oh, no—no—I–uh—was just trying to find the best way out of here, " he says, noticing

that quite a few people in the lobby, men mostly, are staring at them…well, at Lana.

Lana points toward the main entrance of the hotel, "well, the Mediterranean always used

to be that way."

"Hey, I'm a gambler —why don't we try it…?"

Placing his arm around her shoulder in a friendly but proprietary manner, they start for

the door. Kent notices that more people are now staring at them.

He sees two men, in ordinary business suits, are looking in his direction, and not at

Lana. When they see him looking at them they turn slightly away and immediately start a

conversation with each other.

As Clark and Lana walk nonchalantly towards the exit to the beach she too is conscious

of their being watched. She looks off to her right and sees a middle-aged man, seated in

a chair looking casually at them.

_Hmm…they can't all be looking at me in my bathing suit…can they…_

Lana turns her head and looks ahead a little self-consciously, while Kent looks

suspiciously at this man. When Kent turns away from the man he looks toward the

assistant manager of the hotel, engaged in conversation with a woman resident, who

suddenly looks over her shoulder toward Kent.

Clark is concerned about being so carefully scrutinized, but his face shows nothing but a

pleasant, half-smile on his lips. He's a man happy to be in the company of a beautiful

woman. Inside, he's afraid that Lana will notice something is wrong, he half turns to her

with a smile, about to say something, when movement behind them catches his eye. He

turns to look over his shoulder and sees the same two men who were standing by the

elevator. They are casually strolling towards him.

Kent turns back with an expression of concern on his face. He stops walking, turns to

her.

"Would you mind waiting a moment, I'm going to leave my key with the front desk?"

As Kent approaches the reception desk he puts down his key, and asks, "is there

anything for Burns, in room four fifteen?"

The clerk replies, "I will look, sir."

Kent turns and glances casually around him. He looks over to where Lana is standing,

glancing into a showcase as she waits for him. He begins to feel relieved when he

realizes all the men in the lobby, and the woman with the assistant manager, are staring

not at him but at Lana. She is the center of attention in a pure white bathing suit, covered

by the flimsy diaphanous outer garment, which highlights Lana's exotic beauty.

_She is what I should be looking at instead of having to be constantly on the alert…_

He visibly relaxes, and smiles inwardly at his misunderstanding the stares. He turns at

the sound of the clerk's voice.

"There's a letter for you, Mr. Burns," says the clerk handing him a white envelope.

"Thank you, as he opens the letter and takes a note out of the envelope, reads it.

The note is made up from words cut from the London Daily Mails-and pasted on a plain

piece of paper in the form of a weather report.

"FORECAST:

A NEW LOW PRESSURE AREA MOVING IN.

STORM CLOUDS GATHERING.

POSSIBLE THUNDER AND LIGHTNING AND HEAVY PRECIPITATION.

OUTLOOK: UNPLEASANT.

WEATHERMAN SUGGESTS: YOU MOVE TO A BETTER CLIMATE."

Kent looks at the note a moment longer, a slight frown starts on his face. He quickly

changes it to a more neutral expression and walks over to Lana.

Smiling now he asks, "All ready to go, Lana?"

"I'm ready, "Lana says, linking her arm with his as they head toward the beach.

Coming out of the ornate French doors onto a highly polished veranda they can see the

tops of many gaily colored beach umbrellas along a stretch of curving beach, and the

sun sparkled harbor of Cannes beyond. Since it's early in the day there aren't many

people, making it easy for Clark to get a change booth, slip into his bathing suit. Lana

doesn't need to change as was clear to all the men in the hotel lobby, although many of

them might wish her out of the outfit. Clark quickly comes out, smiling at her, and they

walk on the sand to a group of unoccupied beach umbrellas, and chose one to sit under.

"Lana, does this seem familiar to you, "he says as she hands him a bottle of sun tan

lotion, "I mean, the water, beach, the lotion…you?"

"How do you mean that, "giving him a sly smile over her shoulder, on which he is

applying lotion, "Oh, you're talking about the time you lathered me up and then rubbed

me down…before we were properly introduced."

"Yes…hmm…yes…that would be the time, "said as he experiences the same sense of

familiarity, which has nothing to do with this second application of sun tan lotion, but

more to do with how he feels when he's with Lana. He continues to smooth lotion on her

shoulders, and the back of her neck, which is easily accessed with her hair pinned up.

"You have strong hands, "she says, murmuring slightly, "but they don't feel awkward,

they seem to know…what they're doing, " as a small moan escapes or lips.

Clark has finished applying the lotion and hands the bottle to Lana so she can apply it to

her arms and face.

They stretch out along side each other on their blanket, their arms barely touching.

The early morning sun is not so intense yet, providing a pleasant warmth. As the two of

them talk, their eyes closed under the sun, just their voices trading thoughts back and

forth over a range of subjects. She talks about her interest in the emerging scientific

discipline of marine biology, so much unknown, "But so much to learn, " she says with

enthusiasm. She talks of the places she's traveled to, the interesting people she's met.

She hints at the many 'frogs' she has dated, and the startling absence of 'princes'.

He notes the reference to other men, not surprised that a woman with such physical

beauty would be pursued. And, adding her wealth to the equation it seems nothing short

of miraculous that she is not in a long term relationship, or married.

_Can there be a royal bit$h hiding under that exquisite exterior of hers…well, not for me _

_to worry about…this can't possibly go anywhere…_

He mentions the keen interest he's had in history, with locations and times ranging from

ancient Egypt to the Roman Empire to Victorian England and more. Vic Eng alone

seems to hold a cornucopia of anecdotes, stories of courage and foolishness.

Although there are many topics they discuss that present the opportunity -he does not

mention the war.

They ask each other questions about their interests, as they find themselves first turning

their faces toward the other, then facing each other on their sides, their heads casually

propped up. Their conversation is unhurried, they are talking just above a whisper,

sharing what each of them finds of interest, something to intrigue or delight the other. A

foot of sun washed blanket separates them, as the occasional free hand gestures and

arcs close to the other, grazing skin and leaving a trail of heat behind.

Lying along side Lana, quietly sharing conversation, Clark is aware of an absence – the

near-constant state of alertness, the tightness with which he has been holding

himself…and his thoughts, seems to have eased, enough that he notices the gap filled

with something approaching calm.

_I sure could have used her during the war…_

Lana has herself felt something different with Clark than she has with other men. She

has had major crushes before, that sudden surge of urges and hormones, often

enhanced by drinking and partying to create a false sense of connection, where you ride

a wave of false euphoria. Indeed, the body can lie to its owner. These trysts usually

ended in either minor disappointment or major crisis, causing her self-doubt as she

questioned her choice of men.

Looking at him through partially lowered eyelids, she is practical enough to recognize

that there are some hidden parts of Clark's life that he has not chosen to share with her.

Despite this small misgiving, she knows that there could be any number of good reasons

why he has not yet been completely forth coming.

Putting aside her concern about secrets she acknowledges to herself that there is

something very different about their beginning relationship, that the courtship dance- if

that's what it is – will likely have some odd steps before they can hope to make music

together.

Aside from the considerable charms of his physical presence, his comforting size so

gracefully carried, an unfashionably long mane of hair she wants to run her fingers

through, a boyish look that completely belies the sharp –one might say cunning –

intelligence behind sea-green eyes. Aside from all that he appears to be a man that

knows how to satisfy a woman, as evidenced by his way with a kiss, an embrace, when

to hold tightly, and when to let go, reluctantly.

"Are you thirsty, "he asks, languorously stretching, muscles flexing quietly, brushing

sand from his trunks as he rises?

"Yes, some water would be nice, "her voice is deeper, almost a pre-sleep huskiness.

As Clark grasps the carafe of chilled water sitting under the umbrella he sees Loilan

Foussard, the French girl who drove the motorboat from the restaurant, waving her

arms. She's not waving them directly at him, to an onlooker it would appear that she was

signaling someone down the beach, but her movement has caught Clark's attention.

Even from this distance he notices that Loilan is wearing an abbreviated French bathing

suit, perhaps even more darling than the one Lana's has on. Although, he notices, with

different results.

When Loilan is certain that he has seen her she quickly moves down toward the water's

edge, where she glances back in Kent's direction.

He hands Lana the cold water and says, "I'm going to take a quick dip, swim out to the

float."

"Would you like company, someone to splash around with, to be ready to rescue you

should you tire, "lightly joking with him as she rises again on her elbow, eyes slightly

wider?

"No…you stay and relax, I'll be back before you know it, "as he smiles at her, "we can

swim together a bit later."

As he turns toward the water he sees Loilan turn and run into the water, starting to swim

out toward the float. She quickly reaches it and climbs up onto the 12 foot square

wooden plank-topped float. She turns to watch Kent swimming powerfully toward the

float, until his head and shoulders, just above the water, appear next to the float. He puts

a hand out and takes hold of the float edge, just below Loilan. She is lying on her side,

which accentuates the curve of her hip line, while allowing her ample cleavage to

deepen as her suit falls slightly forward.

"You performed a very beautiful burglary last night, "Loilan says, mockingly.

"Strictly routine," he says, paddling slowing to keep himself afloat and in place.

"You're marvelous. Last night you steal a small fortune —today you lie on the beach with

an American beauty."

"Which is why one needs a small fortune, Kent says.

Loilan nods toward the beach, "Is she to be your next victim?"

Kent glances back to the beach and sees Lana, resting on her elbows, sunglasses in

place, looking in his direction.

Kent looks back to Loilan, "Let's just say she's a wealthy friend."

"Hmm…your old pals of the Resistance, who work at the restaurant, they called the

police all sorts of wicked names when they had to let you go yesterday."

Kent asks casually, "would it be bad manners to ask who tipped off the police in the

flower market?"

"They would never say anything to the flics," Loilan protests, "you know that."

"Somebody said something."

"Friends or not , they would be very happy if you were caught during your next job.

"It's so good to know I have friends I can count on," he says sarcastically.

Staring at him, watching the play of his muscles as he treads water, her gaze comes

slowly up to his eyes, "Perhaps it would be better that you were caught. "

"Any particular reason it would be better, he inquires?"

Loilan says nonchalantly, "I heard some gossip in the kitchen. They said—what a pity it

would if they must kill a cat, staring at him. " I think they will do whatever is necessary to

avoid prison."

Shaking his head his head in disappointment Kent says, My, my, the police want me in

jail, the boys want me dead, the Cat wants me out of town— "

"What do you mean—The Cat wants you out of town?"

"He sent me a note this morning saying things are about to get rough around here."

Loilan asked," Clark, with all these treats, don't you think it's foolish to remain here—? If

you were in South America, with me, you would know exactly what will happen.

"Hmm…remain or go…either one of those choices sounds dangerous," he says with a

smile.

She says, smiling as she leans forward to give him a better view of her chest, "It would

be so much nicer to be killed by love. No?"

Kent laughs, and shakes his head at her flirtatiousness, "Ever the romantic, aren't you,

Loilan?"

"Clark, you know what kind of men are at Bertani's. If there is another robbery, and more

police, they will do something to you."

"Well, I do thank you for your concern," he says, with a smile that does not reach his

eyes, "I think I'd better get back to my companion."

When he looks back at the beach Lana is no longer there. As he looks around for her,

Loilan asks, "What has she got more than me—except money? And you are getting

plenty of that."

Kent looks up at her with irritation, and replies, "Loilan—in may ways you're still a girl.

She's a woman."

Loilan shrugs, "why do you want to buy an old car? If you can get a new one

cheaper? It will run better, and last longer and offer a lot more thrust."

He looks at Loilan, realizing she hasn't understood a word he's said. Then he turns,

scans the beach again.

He looks a little puzzled at Lana's disappearance, "It looks like my old car just drove off."

Just then there's a splash of water on the side of the float behind him.

"No it hasn't. It just turned amphibious." He turns quickly toward Lana's voice.

Lana is floating, neck deep in the water, having just come up from beneath the surface.

Lana says, smiling, "I thought I'd come out and see what the big attraction was, "looking

from Clark, to Loilan lying on her side on the float, her posture stubbornly revealing.

Kent wonders how much of his conversation with Loilan did Lana hear, if any. He

glances up questioningly at Loilan.

Lana says, "…And that I might possibly receive an introduction," glancing toward Loilan."

Kent quickly smiles at his oversight, looks at Loilan and says, "Mademoiselle—"

as he glides toward Lana, Loilan jumps down in the water to meet Lana. They are close

together, just their shoulders and heads showing above the water.

Clark says to Loilan," I don't think you told me your name."

She looks at him, then at Lana, "it is Loilan Fouisard."

"May I present Miss Lana Lang, " nodding his head toward Lana.

"How do you do, Miss Foussard," She puts out her hand, and the girls shake hands

under water.

"Mr. Burns has told me so little—about you," said with a raised eyebrow.

"I only met her a couple of minutes ago, " he says, attempting sincerity.

"That's right, "Loilan says, "only a few minutes ago."

"And you talked like two old friends, "Lana smiles at each of them, "but that's warm,

friendly France for you."

"I was—I was asking her about renting water skis, "he says, struggling to explain, "

would you like me to teach you water skiing?"

Lana smiles indulgently, "I placed third in the women's champion competition at

Sarasota, Florida —last season."

"Oh, I see. Well, perhaps I could help you reach first," a smirk escaping his lips.

Lana laughs and says, "Hmm…first is a nice place to be." Treading water, she

maneuvers a little closer to Kent, "are you sure you two were asking about water skis?

From where I sat it looked as if you two were conjugating some irregular verbs."

Lana looks from one to the other. Loilan's face is not friendly, she doesn't speak.

Clark asks, "Say something nice to her, Loilan."

In a voice filled with distain, Loilan says, "She looks a lot older up close."

Kent can't help laughing, but Lana loses some of her humor.

"To a mere child, anyone over twenty-one might seem old, " she says

"A child? At least I have youth to offer…Shall we discuss that?

"It's not the age my dear, but the mileage that makes the difference…," Lana says,

looking at Clark.

"Enjoying yourself, Mr. Burns," Lana asks?

He has found the conversation very amusing, perhaps too much. "Well, uh it is pleasant

out here—the sun, the company, it's just wonderful."

Well, I've had enough cultural exchange for today, I'll see you back at the hotel."

Clark says, "wait, I'll go with you."

"But, Mr. Burns you didn't finish telling me how French women are more seductive than

American women," Loilan says, grasping his arm.

Lana is quickly gone in a graceful dive. She swims rapidly away toward shore. Kent

turns to watch her, and then looks back at Loilan with anger. Loilan has ducked down

under water. Suddenly his feet are pulled out from under him, and he falls beneath the

water. Loilan pops up, laughing and happy at his discomfort.

She frowns at him as he turns, without another word, and swims toward shore.

Not seeing Lana when he reaches the beach he heads for his cabana to change. Soon

after he has quickly dressed Kent comes out of the cabana. He locks the door, drapes

his light jacket over his shoulder, putting the key into his pocket. Then he reaches into

his inner pocket to check the list of jewelry owners given him by Hughson. He's relieved

that it is still there, until he notices the list has a wet thumb mark on it. He suspiciously

glances around him, seeing the beach attendant answering a question from a guest. It

seems likely that the attendant is the person that left the wet thumb print, since he has

access to the cabana. Kent thinks that the attendant is probably a police informer looking

to make extra cash. Replacing the list in his pocket, he strolls over to the attendant. Kent

smiles nonchalantly at him and hands him the cabana key.

On the promenade above the two men is a detective leaning over the rail, looking down

at the cabanas below. He is watching Kent and Claude. The detective's eyes follow Kent

when he leaves, waiting a few moments before following.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

As Clark leaves the beach area, heading into the Carlton side entrance, he sees Lana

Lang standing in the center of the steps. She looks smilingly in Kent's direction. She is

now dressed in a summer dress of a light green that brings out the color in her eyes.

Walking toward the steps, Kent is glad to see her, and returns her smile.

Lana says, with a mischievous half-smile, "Do you think you have time for me now?"

"Sorry I was so long out there on the float, " he says apologetically.

"From what I saw of that girl, I thought you'd be a lot longer."

He pauses momentarily, then says," Hmm…well, now about our having cocktails. Would

six o'clock be ok? "

Lana gives him a mock commanding tone," We can talk about that on the way."

He looks at her quizzically and says, "To where?"

"To rent you a villa."

For a brief moment, he doesn't know what to say. "Uh, Lana—picking out a villa is a personal thing, and— "

"I have my car, and the hotel packed us a basket lunch —with beer, and chicken, and –"

"Nonsense, Miss Lang. It's too much to expect of you. It'll be a tiring, dusty trip through

mountain roads— "

She cuts him off, " Call me Lana, please. Look, you're bound to get lost—a perfect

stranger —who doesn't know a word of the language— "

He says, "I was going to hire an English–speaking chauffeur."

"Well now you have one. And I'll give you a wholesale rate, no tipping - unless I service

you to your satisfaction, "she says, a sly look on her face.

Kent smiles at this exchange, just then noticing two detectives watching them from a

distance.

"Lana," he says with emphasis on her name, "I must say, the terms are generous—

Kent's glances at the detectives.

Kent turns back casually, and continues, "You are too generous to refuse."

Lana smiles, "My terms usually are."

"Where's your car?"

Lana points, "Right there."

Kent looks towards the car, which is a fast looking sports convertible. "It would be

ungentlemanly of me to say 'no' to your gracious offer. Let's go." They walk over to her

car, get in and drive out of the hotel parking lot.

Just before Lana and Clark leave, the two detectives are waiting in their police car.

When the dispatch phone rings the detective not behind the wheel reaches for it, says

hello, and listens. He quickly hangs up, nods to the driver to get going. The driver starts

up the car, letting it idle. Both detectives watch the street, waiting for another car to pass

them. When Lana drives past they immediately follow.

Lana accelerates her convertible onto the Grande Corniche Road, which offers a

spectacular view of tree lined roadway stretching into the distance.

The convertible is followed at a discreet distance by the black police car, which stays

close enough to keep the convertible in sight.

Lana and Clark have been driving for a few minutes with only the noise of the engine as

she runs through the gears.

Not taking her eyes off the road, Lana says, "I've been waiting all day for you to mention

that kiss I gave you…well, ok, and that you returned…last night."

Clark gets an amused look on his face, "You know back home, we'd call you a

headstrong girl. "

"Back home, huh? I'd have cleared out long ago."

He responds, "Now don't knock my home state. Where were you born?"

Lana says quietly, "In a taxi, half-way between home and the hospital."

When he has no comment she turns and smiles at him. "I've lived in twenty-seven

different towns and cities."

"Somebody chasing you, " he asks?

"Boys."

He pauses before responding, looking intently at her, "Well, you can stop running now."

"When I was ten, my uncle died, who had been like a father to me. That was the second

father I'd lost. And then…we found oil on our land. Then I really started to travel. "

He says, with a smile, "Now the boys' fathers were chasing you."

"Yes—but I began to get the uncomfortable feeling they only wanted to get their hands

on my money."

"I'm impressed," he says almost sincerely," On second thought, back home we'd have

called you a rich, headstrong girl." He smiles at her and says, "and that would make it all

right."

"Money manages most people," Lana says with conviction.

Turning toward her he asks, "You honestly believe that?"

"I've proved it over and over again until it's a dull, predictable formula. And don't get the

idea that I'm just a spoiled child of wealth: sure, we have money now—but first we had

common sense.

"I never doubted your good sense for a minute. You're a singular girl."

"Is that good or bad?"

He smiles at her, although she is concentrating on her driving, "Very good. You know

what you want—you start out after it —and nothing stops you until you get it."

"You make it sound a little ruthless and cold-hearted."

"Oh, I think you're anything but cold-hearted. You're a very passionate person, "he says,

turning toward her, "I simply meant that when you know what you want you will do your

best to get it."

As he observes her driving skills he is admiring her face in profile, the way her delicate

looking hands so effectively control the steering wheel, while her legs expertly work the

clutch and accelerator. This last effort has brought up her light dress, revealing the toned

muscles of her thighs, lithely flexing and extending.

He says, "I will say you do things promptly —no wasted preliminaries. Not only did I

enjoy that kiss last night, I was awed by its efficiency. "

"I'm a great believer in getting down to essentials, "said with a smile curling her lips.

"Efficiency.: inviting me for breakfast—planning a swim —and now this drive —Miss

Lang, you're one in a million."

"A routine compliment—but I'll accept it," she says.

"Lana, may I ask you a personal question,?" his tone serious

"I've been hoping you would."

"What do you expect to get out of being so nice to me?"

"…Probably more than you're willing to offer," said in a slightly subdued voice.

He looks at her closely for a few moments. She continues driving, showing no reaction.

Then he says, "I know. You're here in Europe looking for a long term relationship,

perhaps even to buy a husband."

Lana offers him a patient look, indicating that what he said has no merit, "The kind of

man I want doesn't have a price."

He relaxes against the seat, smiling to himself. "Hmm…well, that eliminates me."

In the police car trailing them one of the detectives has his open wallet in his hands. He's

slipping photos out of it, and quickly showing them to the driver who momentarily takes

his eyes off the road. From the driver's lustful reaction it is clear that the photos are

pornographic and the detective who's not driving is having fun distracting the driver with

them. Just then both detectives stop looking at the photos as Lana's convertible makes a

quick left turn into the gateway of a huge villa.

The police car goes a little past the gateway and slides to a stop at the side of the road.

The detectives get out and cautiously walk toward the villa.

Lana drives up the path leading to the villa, stopping in front of the main entrance. A long

gravel walk leads to a grand, imposing villa. The walk is lined with attractive flowers and

trees, which Kent looks at admiringly. Kent quickly gets out of the car, goes to the

driver's side and offers her his hand. She allows him to pull her up until her face is close

to his, looking up into his eyes. They stand there a few unnecessary moments, neither

one willing to move. They simultaneously pull slightly back, looking away from each and

begin to walk towards the villa.

Lana is intently looking at the side of his face as they walk. "You don't like women who

have brains and know what they want, do you?"

"Exactly the opposite, Lana, " coming to a stop and turning to stare, "What thinking man

likes the beautiful but-dumb type? Certainly not for the one you want to share your life

with."

"Humph…only about half the population" They like a woman beautiful enough to make

them feel like Casanovas, but dumb enough not to know when they are scre…"

Kent interrupts, "…being taken advantage of?"

"Yes…that's the long version."

As they continue walking at a leisurely pace he says, " You're absolutely right. Give me a

woman who knows her own mind every time," his tone half serious.

"No one gives you that kind of a woman," said as she turns an intent gaze on him, "You

have to earn her."

Sounding mildly curious he asks, "Any particular method?"

When they approach the steps leading to the front door Lana says, "Yes…but it's no

good unless you discover it yourself."

His expression, as he listens to her, is a mix of intrigue and respect.

Looking around at the locked front door of the villa, and finding no one present, Lana

asks, " Are you sure you have the right address? "

Kent partially pulls the list out of his pocket. "The villa is a little large, but it's on the real

estate agent's list.

She turns, reaching quickly for the list, "Let me see."

Hastily he pushes the list back into his pocket and changes the subject. As she looks

suspiciously at him he says, "Let's look at the gardens first. No need to bother the villa

people." They start to move around the house.

Looking now at Lana he says, "With all your money, you should own a place like this. "

"Palaces like this are for royalty. We're just common people with a bank account. "

"That sounds more like your aunt than you."

"There isn't much difference between us but a few years and some expensively bought

grammar."

They walk along the front of the house. As he talks, his eyes turn upward surreptitiously

toward the roofline, looking along the slope of the roof, and to the top windows.

"There are other differences. You never wear any jewelry."

"I don't like cold things touching my skin," she says, unconsciously rubbing her bare

arms.

He watches her hands move over her arms, and offers, "With your money you could

probably invent hot diamonds."

Stopping as though to look at a flowering bush; she notices him intently scanning the

building. She says, "I'd rather spend it on more tangible excitement."

"What gives you the most thrill," said as he looks along the eves of the roof?.

After a pause Lana says, "I'm still looking for that one."

As Kent looks down from scanning the building, he is surprised to see that:

Lana is casually staring at him.

"I thought we were going to look at the gardens,?" she questions.

"Oh sorry, I couldn't help being intrigued by the architecture. Turn-of-the-century

Mediterranean, I think—with a touch of too much money."

Outside the gate, on the other side of the road, one of the two detectives is watching

Lana and Clark walking around to the side of the house. He sees Kent look up, his head

tilted towards the roof. The detective hurries back to his waiting car. He opens the door,

leans in and picks up the radio-telephone and calls; soon he is speaking rapidly in

French.

Although the garden offers natural, but groomed beauty on all sides, Clark and Lana are

content to stroll among the flowerbeds barely looking at the garden. They seem

preoccupied with their conversation.

Lana asks, "You never mention your wife.?"

"Never found the time to get married."

"You don't seem to be rushed for time now." He looks at her, but doesn't answer.

"Or did you just come to the Rivera to add interesting items to your diary,?" Lana asks

"Like the name and description of that French girl you swam out to meet. "

He smiles and says, "You are husband-hunting, after all."

"That wasn't jealousy you heard—but only disappointment in your limited imagination. I

mean…young French girls ….really."

Kent tries to look properly uncomfortable, as they come in close contact.

"I'll bet you snowed her under. The big, handsome, rich lumberman from America. I'll bet

you even told her all your trees were Sequoias."

"Hmm…you said 'handsome', "he says with a smirk. "That certainly sounds like jealousy

to me." He looks at her. "Well, don't hold it in. Let it I won't even mention the

'Sequoias' reference."

They both pause and glance casually in the distance to see the tiny figure of a man

emerging from a side door of the villa. He comes towards them but they cannot yet see

who he is. After a casual glance at the man they continue talking.

Lana says, "You're somewhat egotistical."

He pauses a moment, locking eyes with her, "Anybody near you would almost have to

be."

Lana smiling, enjoying his comments, "There's hope for you yet."

"Miss Lang—," he says with mock formality.

"Yes, Mr. Burns—,?" her response is equally formal

Kent glances toward the oncoming figure again as it approaches. It is a heavy-built man.

The two of them look at the figure for a few moments and then Kent turns back and

resumes the conversation. "Know what I think,?" he says

"About what?"

"You."

Lana pretends disinterest, "I don't really care."

Despite himself, Kent glances back at the figure again. She follows his glance.

The figure of the man has now become much nearer. It is nearly possible to identify him,

if it were not for the brim of his hat shading his eyes.

Kent shifts uneasily, slowly moving between the approaching man and Lana. She

notices Kent sideling but her glance at the man remains casual.

Clark says, "You care more about what you think of me than I do. Right, or wrong?"

"You tell me, Clark, " said in a mildly defiant tone.

Looking her directly in the eye he says, "I will. You're an insecure, over–pampered

woman who thinks men only like her for her money—and who is probably right about

that."

Kent quickly glances back to the oncoming figure, now recognizing Bertani–the

restaurant proprietor, who approaches them. Bertani is glancing at them quite casually,

not showing any sign of recognizing Kent.

Kent is staring at the approaching Bertani. Lana brings him back to the conversation.

"Anything more?"

He says, "What you need is something I have neither the time, nor the inclination to give

you."

He stares back at Bertani. As Bertani approaches he shows not the slightest sign of

recognition. Kent, half-turning away from him, stares ahead with a thoughtful look.

And then Lana asks him, "And just what is it that I need?"

He turns completely to her and says, "Two weeks, with a good man, and a 'Do-Not-

Disturb' sign, at Niagra Falls."

After Clark offers his advice on what she needs Lana is at first annoyed with him. Then

she realizes that he must be thinking of himself as the man that meet her "needs" in two

of confinement to Niagra Falls.

_Hmm…would that really be a bad thing…two weeks alone with Clark…still, I don't like the _

_presumption that a good stiff one would somehow make everything alright. Such male arrogance. _

_It's pity that he wears it so well_

"Mr. K…, er, Burns, listening to your last statement I believe I can return the favor, "she says,

with a serious expression.

"Oh, how so, "he says dubiously.

"I'd rather show you…then talk about it, "glancing away from him, as though uncertain.

"Is it far?"

Lana says, "A few miles."

"Uh–huh. And it's probably lonely…secluded," trying to read her expression, although her face is

deliberately turned away from him?

"Yes, secluded, what else, "as she opens the door to the convertible, "get in."

He goes around to the passenger side, and opening the door see the picnic basked. "I'm hungry.

Let's open up the basket."

"Not until we get to the picnic grounds—, " starting the engine and putting it in gear she says,

"you can wait for something good, can't you?"

He looks at her a second before responding, "Yes, of course. And this picnic area…you've

already picked it out…?"

"Which I've already picked out, " she agrees noncommittally. Slowly moving the car toward the

roadway.

A little way up the road, away from the entrance gate, a police car is waiting. The same two

detectives that had been following Lana's convertible are pretending to play a casual game of

soccer, kicking a small stone instead of a ball. When they hear the sound of a car they look up and

see the convertible come of the villa gates carrying Lana and Kent.

The second Lana's car is out of sight the two men stop their game, and hurry to their waiting

black sedan. They jump in and start to follow them at a distance.

Up ahead of them, Lana has reached the roadway and accelerates the car, quickly getting up to

highway speed.

Kent has noticed the trailing car, now visible a small dot in the convertible's side-view mirror.

Pretending not to notice the police car, Kent turns from the mirror to Lana and says, "Well, what

are we dawdling along like this for?

Lana thinks that he has taken her innuendo seriously, and finding this amusing, she gives him a

sexy look. "That's exactly what was running through my mind. "

She steps on the gas. The powerful car seems to jump forward, its engine making a deep throated

rumble. Lana, increases the cars speed, taking the curves in the road with squealing tires

Kent glances nonchalantly over his shoulder and laughs to himself as he can only now and again

gets a glimpse of the police car following. Although it has also seems to have increased its speed

the gap between the two cars is slowly widening.

When Clarks turns and glances at Lana he notices that while she appears calm there is an

intensity about her body language, and how she seems to be gripping the steering wheel. As she

takes the next corner a little too near the center of the road, driving partially in the opposite lane,

another car suddenly appears around the corner toward them.

Lana appears completely confident as she expertly turns to avoid the other car. As Lana swings

the convertible toward the side of the road with a screech of the tires, Kent's eyes widen

momentarily, but his expression quickly returns to relaxed.

It's not Lana's fast driving that concerns Kent, as the tires screech, it's that they're driving on a

road that runs along a cliff side, with about a 100 foot drop to the rocks below. And there is no

guard rail, only the skill of the drivers to keep cars from plummeting to an abrupt meeting with

the rocks.

Clark smiles to himself as the twisting road rushes toward them. He looks at Lana and sees that

she is enjoying herself. The wind is furiously blowing her hair into a trailing leonine mane.

Lana's hands grip the wheel, making steady, continual small adjustments to the changes in the

road. Her eyes are bright and focused, a small smile fixed on her lips.

As she shifts the pedals for the clutch and accelerator he watches the supple movement of her legs

under the light summer dress, which has risen to mid thigh. Although she is a slender woman

there is something feral, untamed about her now as she put the car though its paces, pressing

herself and it to the limit.

As the car lurches side to side, forcing him to push against the door or console to keep from

falling over he again see the vertical drop along the road side come into view, with the coastline

seeming a long way down at the bottom.

Looking at the front of the car he sees it slightly bouncing, indicating the car is rocking on is

springs and shock absorbers. The front wheels screech as Lana takes a sharp turn in the winding

road at terrific speed.

Holding his breath for a moment and then slowly letting it out, seeking to calm himself as he had

done many times during dangerous wartime activities.

A quick glance shows him that the police car is losing ground.

Lana quickly glances over at him with a slight smile as though to ask "Enjoying the

ride?" Kent looks at her and forces a faint smile in response.

His eyes widen as just around the next bend, the road suddenly turns into a village. Less than a

hundred yards away, an old woman is crossing the roadway. She is moving slowly, carrying what

appears to be a very heavy bundle. It doesn't look like she has seen the car.

Kent starts to say something to Lana, but she is already pedal breaking and down shifting to also

use engine breaking.

Seeing the distance to the old woman quickly disappearing Clark reflexively jams his foot onto

the bare floor mat in front of him as though he were braking.

The car comes to a screeching stop within a few yards of the old lady. She turns and glances at

them with a puzzled expression.

Lana waves gaily at the woman, waiting for her to move out of car's path. Once the woman is

safely past Lana accelerates again, quickly gaining speed. When Clark glances back he sees the

old lady has dropped something and decided to turn around into the roadway to pick it up. The

police car comes to a screeching stop in front of her.

As Clark laughs at the police car being delayed, Lana looks over at him with a smile.

She puts on a burst of speed as they go through the village. Clark is thinking of telling her that he

thinks they're going a little too fast. He restrains himself.

With Lana's hair blowing wildly she presses the accelerator as the road ahead emerges from the

village into the open mountain road.

The wind whipping over the windshield has Kent's eyes half-closed

The detective's is behind Lana's car, but they do not have her car in sight. They are hoping to

make up lost time as the driver quickly takes the bends in the road, with tires screeching. They are

shocked to suddenly see a stranded car directly in their path. Only the quick reflexes of the driver

prevents them smashing into the cart at high speed as he swerve onto the dirt path along side the

road. Their car quickly collides with a small rock wall, but both detectives are uninjured. One of

them uses the radio telephone to headquarters about their problem, and that they lost their quarry.

Up ahead, Lana is driving the car so fast that Clark is feeling uneasy and has decided to say

something to her. But first he glances over his shoulder and sees no sign of the police car.

He has to shout to make himself heard over the rush of wind. "Slow down!"

Lana yells back, "And let them catch us?"

He looks puzzled, "Let who catch us?"

"The police—in the black car. " a quick look at him, "The ones

who are following you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, " he says, with an innocent expression. "Why would the

police be following me? Conrad Burns?"

Lana smiles, a small laugh barely heard over the wind noise, "No. The police are following

you—Clark Kent—also known as The Cat.

Kent is concerned that she knows who he is but he keeps his face blank, waiting to see how much

information she has about him.

As Lana slows the car, turning off the roadway and riding for a short distance before coming to a

stop that is near a cliff's edge, offering a magnificent view overlooking Monte Carlo. The spot is

isolated and shaded by some trees and blocked from the road by shrubbery.

Lana stretches her arms up and out into the air, lifting herself slightly off the car seat. She takes a

comb out of her purse, and begins arranging her wind blown hair.

"My, it's a lovely day, " taking a deep breath as if to prove even the air is better at this scenic

location, " Did you ever see any place in the world more beautiful than this? Look at the colors of

the sea over there, and the sky, and those pink and green buildings on the hill.

He looks at her, wondering.

"Think of all the roofs down there you could climb over, " she says, smiling innocently.

"Who did you call me?"

"Clark Kent. One of the world's cleverest jewel thieves—known as The Cat, "she says

enthusiastically, " I've read all about you, in the Paris paper."

He calmly says, "You might have read about somebody called The Cat, but—"

Lana interrupts him to say, "I thought you were hungry."

"Well…I am."

She takes out the key, and hands it to him with a smile, "The picnic basket's in the trunk."

Kent gets out of the car and goes to the trunk, and puts the key in.

As he's doing this Lana is combing her hair in the rear view mirror, and at the same time,

watching Kent.

She says, "I hope you do try to bluff me, Mr. Kent. Then I can have the fun of telling you how

clever I was, " a smirk on her face.

As he Kent opens the trunk he says to her, "Since I am not Mr. Kent, but W. Burns, Miss Lang—

there would hardly be any point in bluffing you. But, please do tell me how clever you have been,

" taking out the picnic basket, and closing the trunk.

Lana turns, with a delighted expression, and leans over the back of the seat to face him. "Well,

the first thing I noticed about you, was— "

[i]Hmm…would it be rude of me to say the first thing I noticed was how scrumptious he

looked…probably shouldn't mention that…[/i]

Her eyes follow Kent as he brings the picnic basket to the front seat of the car.

Kent interrupts her to say, "Don't sound so pleased with yourself, Miss Lang."

Lana claps her hands together, very pleased with herself, "I never caught a jewel thief before. It's

stimulating. It's like, like— "

Kent puts the basket on the front seat. "Like having sun tan lotion rub on your back…?

She laughs, her cheeks a little flushed.

"Here, let me serve, she says. He sits on the floor of the car, with his feet on the ground. His back

half turned to her. She opens the picnic basket and takes out two bottles of beer and an opener,

which she hands him.

"The _third_ time I saw you was on the beach in Cannes. You swam ashore from a motor

boat driven by that big French girl who you said didn't know you…but seemed to know you."

She looks at him and asks, "Did you…um…do you want a leg or a breast?"

He chuckles and says, "You make the choice."

He decides to not acknowledge her claims. He forces himself to be outwardly calm and

nonchalant. Lana reaches into the basket, and hands him a chicken leg. She takes a piece of breast

meat for herself. He opens the beer bottles, hands one to her. Each of them takes a bite of the

chicken. Without thinking she reaches in the basket for some salt, and salts his chicken and hands

it to him and then salts hers.

"That beach landing was two days before you showed up at the hotel as Mr. Conrad Burns, just

over from America. Did you swim?"

"Somehow, Miss Lang, and I know this may be hard for your to believe, but you've lost me."

Her eyes open wider, staring intently at him, "Now don't be disappointing, and act like Mr.

Burns."

A glance at her as he says, "I can only be myself."

"Then be yourself, Clark."

Persisting he says, "I prefer Conrad."

"You can't be serious, a frown forming on her face, " and it's about time you called me Lana."

She eats some more of the chicken, takes a swig of beer.

"Look, I have to look out for my aunt Nell. They've tried to steal her jewelry before. When I read

about the—uh, you—in the papers—just a small item but I picked it up—I was sure that Nell

would catch your attention."

"She did. Because I liked her. So far, Miss Lang—You haven't said anything that even remotely

sounds clever."

Lana nods in agreement, "Stick around, there's more. The next thing I noticed was something

remarkable. All evening long, you only looked at my mother—never at me."

Mildly offended, " I kissed you, didn't I?"

"…I kissed you. "

"At least I wasn't looking at your aunt, " a trace of a smile on his face. And then, remembering

that kiss his smile grows wider.

Lana says, "You were thinking about her. Otherwise you'd never have let me go…say goodnight

so easily."

"I'm a gentleman, " he insists.

"Aren't you supposed to be a rough, tough lumberman from the big American Northwest?"

"I'll remember to shout "timber" occasionally."

Lana smiles at his little joke and say, "Now here comes some of the clever part— ", as she smiles

defiantly, "You're not quite convincing, Clark. You're like an American character in an English

movie. You don't talk quite the way an American tourist ought to talk.

"I was misinformed," one eyebrow arched, "all the guidebooks say don't act like a tourist."

"It's more than that…you never mention business, or baseball, or television, or politics, or taxes,

or wage freezes, or senate probes, " she says emphatically.

"You've just listed everything I left home to forget, " said with conviction.

"Clark, you're just not American enough to carry it off. How long has it been since you were in

America last?"

"Three days ago?"

"And Oregon, Lana asks?

"A week ago."

"Ok, mister know-it-all, name me three deciduous trees indigenous to the Northwest, where you

supposedly live and work."

"You're a nice girl with too much imagination, " said as he shakes a cautioning finger at her, " If

you go around talking like this about me, I'll end up in a French jail for something I didn't do."

Ignoring his claim she smiles triumphantly and asks, "Are you planning to try to rob Nell first, or

somebody else?"

"Under the circumstances," he says dryly, " somebody else."

Lana smiles, pleased at his decision, "That's nice. Nell likes you.—I think Lady Kenton should

be our next job."

He puts down the beer and chicken, "Now look— "

Lana asks, "Isn't she on your list? She ought to be. The Kenton jewels are famous. I know every

inch of her villa."

"Hmm…I can already hear your next line."

Smiling wider she says, "The cat has a new kitten. When do we start?"

He turns to her and quickly reaches up and takes her wrist, "Don't talk like that."

"You're leaving fingerprints on my arm," Lana says pleasantly, not struggling within his grasp.

"I'm not Clark Kent, not this Cat person you've mentioned," he said heatedly."

Lana gets a little annoyed with him and begins to speak rapidly, "Why are the police following

you? Show me that "real estate list," she spits out as she struggles against his hand.

Her voice more heated, rising, "That villa you went to isn't for rent, and you know it," her eyes

animated with the question. "The Sanfords have owned it for years—and I'm going to a party

there in a week— "

She looks at his hand still holding her wrist.

"You have a very strong grip. The kind a roof top burglar needs."

He relaxes his hand a little, but still holds her. He smiles at her, a different look in his eye as she

stares back at him, her lips parted, lightly panting. He pulls her down to him, and into a deep,

passionate kiss. Her arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him to her as her lips

enclose and nibble on his upper lip. Their faces are so close that their slotted eyes open for a

second to reveal the blur of the other, and then the kiss is renewed.

Clark slowly stands, lifting her with him, making a small turn so that he can sit in the passenger

seat with her in his lap, her arms raking his hair.

His hands glide over the surface of her light dress, seeking the heat and texture of her skin

underneath. She is slowly squirming under his touch, her bottom sinking further into his lap as he

cradles her to him.

They pull back, gasping for air, eyes heavy-lidded. She feels a yearning not felt before but knows

that they are moving too quickly, that this heat will not subside with time.

"That's why you came out here, isn't it," he says huskily?

"Umm…tonight…, "her eyes are large, luminous, "we'll have cocktails at eight—dinner at eight-

thirty. All in my suite. We'll talk more about it there."

He stares at her flushed face as his pulse slowly returns to normal, "I can't come. I'm going to the

Casino and to watch the fireworks display." He is resisting the powerful pull this woman's

essence has on him, not wanting to be distracted, and not wanting to place her in a situation that

could hurt her.

"You get a better view from my place," she offers, feathering the hair at the back of his neck.

"I already have a date," he says, attempting to do the right thing, despite the feeling of being

almost ready for anything, that something new is happening here.

Lana says, pretending to be annoyed, "well, ok then…everywhere you go, I'll just have you

paged as "Clark Kent, The Cat"."

He doesn't say anything to this. The thought occurs to him that this is a woman who knows what

she wants and has the wits to figure out how to get it.

"Eight o'clock, " she says, placing a small kiss on his lips, that lingers a couple of seconds. "Be

on time, Clark."

He winces slightly when she calls him that, but says, "I don't have a good watch."

"Steal one." She smiles sweetly at him, as they prepare to leave.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Later that day, Bertani is sitting at the desk in his restaurant office. He picks up his

phone and dials a call. "Excuse me, Mr. Kent. I could not speak with you today. I did not

know what name you were using, " he says apologetically.

"I figured you had a good reason for walking past me without a word, "Clark says.

"Who was the pretty girl?"

"She's Lana Lang. Her aunt is loaded with catnip."

"Hmm…you had her with you while you examined the villa Sanford, interesting. You are

preparing—eh? Bertani says, "there will be a grand party there—with many women, rich jewels."

Laughing, Clark replies, "I'm counting on it."

"This time we might help you—me and my boys."

"And how would you do that, " Clark asks?

"I supply drinks and food. We shall be everywhere at that party. "

"Hmm…I might just need you," Clark agrees.

"All you have to do is tell me and we will be ready."

"Thanks, Bertani."

"And bring the lovely Miss Lang to my restaurant for dinner."

"Not tonight. She's made some small plans for the two of us."

"Ah, I see. Well, soon then. Bonjour."

"Bonjour."

Bertani hangs up, chuckling warmly, as if the conversation had already become a pleasant

memory. He turns his attention back to the bills on the desk.

Later, in a different part of Cannes Lana is playing host to Clark in her suite. They have just

finished a quiet dinner for two in her room. They are standing on the balcony looking out on the

harbor at Cannes, with its many boats rocking in the water.

They are standing about six feet apart, each leaning on the balcony railing, looking at the

beginning of the firework display at the Casino. Bright, multi-colored rockets arc into the night

sky, leaving the shadows of small suns as they die.

Clark is momentarily distracted as their waiter passes behind them, pushing a portable table

containing the used dishes and glassware of their dinner.

The waiter says, "Bonsoir, Madame."

" Bonsoir, " Lana replies over her shoulder, still looking out at the harbor.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur."

Clark says, "Good evening."

The waiter leaves the suite, closing the door behind him.

Lana turns away from her window and crosses to a lamp at the other side

of the room. He half turns, watching her movements.

As she walks, she says gaily, "If you really want to see fireworks, it's better with the lights out."

She turns off the light. Then she comes down behind the large, cushioned sofa.

He turns again, his eyes following her, a neutral expression on his face

Standing in the near dark, Lana says, "I have a feeling that tonight you're going to see one of the

Riviera's most fascinating sights."

She pauses in front of a table lamp, bending over slightly to turn it off. Only the partial

illumination from outside the windows reaches this part of the room. With her face in shadow the

jewels around her neck seem to sparkle as they catch the dim light of one remaining lamp

She turns her head and looks at Kent watching her, "I was talking about the fireworks."

He offers a small smile and says, "Never doubted it."

"The way you looked at my necklace, I wasn't sure." She turns out the last lamp, leaving the

room in darkness, except for what light comes in from outside. Her jewels seem to give off a

muted glow.

She walks to her window, then half turns to look at him. "You've been dying to mention the

necklace. Please, do go ahead."

"Why do you ask,? " Clark says. "Have I been staring at it?"

"No. Just the opposite, you've been trying to avoid it, "said with a small smile, as her fingertips

trail over the back of the sofa.

He doesn't answer her, but continues to intently watch another display of fireworks go off. His

face, Lana's and the room are bathed in the glow from the fireworks.

As the light from the fireworks dies out he turns and looks at her. He watches her for a moment

and then goes to a small bar at the far end of the room.

"Would you care for some cognac,?" he offers.

Lana is casually touching the necklace, running her fingers over its length. "No thank you. Some

nights there just doesn't seem to be a need to drink."

He smiles but makes no comment as he pours himself a drink at the bar.

"Doesn't it make you nervous to be standing in the same room with twenty thousand dollars

worth of diamonds —and unable to touch them?" ,she says, standing by the window, partly

turned away from him.

Clark faces her and simply says, "No." He sip his drink.

Watching him drink, she says, "You don't feel like an alcoholic standing outside a bar on election

day,? " her eyes narrowing as she watches him closely.

"Wouldn't know the feeling," he says.

"Hmm…Ok, let me try to paint this picture for you, " she says, starting to sound excited, her arms

providing a pantomime accompaniment to her words, "You've studied the layout, drawn the

plans, worked out the timetable—put on your dark clothes, with your non-slip shoes and your

rope. You are up and over the roofs in the darkness, down the side of the wall to the right

apartment—and then," she gestures broadly, her eyes wide as though vividly imagining his

movements, "the window is locked! All that excitement turns into frustration."

Just then the fireworks flash again, first flooding the room with colored light, quickly followed by

the tympani of explosions. Lana's face is animated, her eyes glimmering in the darkened room.

"What would you do,?" she asks softly.

He pauses a moment as if carefully considering the situation she described, and says, "Go home

and get a good night's sleep."

"What…no…what would you do? You have the thrill of the theft right in front of you, but you

can't quite get it. The gems are glistening on the other side of the window. Someone on the bed,

asleep, breathing heavily. They're ready for the picking."

He looks calmly at her and says in a neutral voice, "I'd go home and get a good night's sleep."

The two of them stare silently at each other for a few moments.

Sounding a little frustrated with him, she says, "But…wouldn't you use a glass cutter—a brick—

your fist —anything to get what you wanted? Knowing it was there, just waiting for you?

Clark pours himself another glass of cognac, drinks some of it.

"Drinking dulls your senses," she points out, moving closer to the couch.

Kent takes a step down into the room. "And if I'm lucky, some of my hearing."

Ignoring his comment, she presses on, "Blue white, emerald-cut diamonds. Platinum settings.

How can they be resisted?"

Showing her a polite but non-committal smile, he says," I have about the same interest in jewelry

that I have in horse-racing, politics, or women who need weird excitement. None."

Smiling now, as though she has made her point, "Hold this necklace in your hand and tell me

you're not Clark Kent, The Cat."

She moves a step closer to the couch.

"Sorry, what…I was warming my brandy," he says.

"Clark—"

He doesn't answer.

"Tell me something, "she says.

He takes a step forward. His look seems to invite her question.

Lana is a little pleased with herself as she points out, "You're going to rob that villa we "cased"

this afternoon—aren't you?—I suppose "rob" is archaic. You'd say "liberate" the jewels, no?

Through the corner window is a brilliant display of fireworks shooting into the sky. The sudden

light bathing the room reveals Kent glancing sharply at her.

Lana has noticed his glance. Kent turns, puts down his glass, then moves a little closer

to the sofa. His eyes are on her all the time. She doesn't move away.

"Don't worry," Lana says, " I'm a fortress of secrets."

Shaking his head, he asks, with a small smile on his face, "have you recently visited a

psychiatrist? "

Smirking at him, she replies, "Don't change the subject. I know the perfect time to do it.

This weekend. the Sanford's are holding their annual gala. Everybody who counts will be there."

"I never learned how to count. "

Looking at him, seeing that he is closer to her, she offers, "I'll get you an invitation."

Lana leans up against the back of the sofa. He is near the other end.

"It's an Eighteenth Century costume affair. There'll be thousands upon thousands of dollars

worth of the world's most elegant jewelry. Some of the guests will be staying

for the weekend. I can get all the information. We'll do it together. What do you say?"

"Any comment I might make would not be fit for mixed company. "

The fireworks produce a big display of multi-colored rockets just outside the room

Lana is now seated on the near end of the sofa. Kent, standing, leans lightly against the

far end.

"Give up, Clark. Admit it…who you are."

He doesn't answer.

"Even in the dark," she says in a low voice, "I know where your eyes are looking."

He sits down in the center of the sofa, not looking toward her.

"Clark, come over and look at them. Hold these diamonds–the only thing in the world you can't

resist," she says in a near whisper, "touch them and then tell me you don't know what I'm talking

about."

Kent turns toward her, his face in shadow during a lull in the fireworks display. He slowly puts a

hand out and grasps her wrist.

The two of them look into each other's eyes. Clark releases her wrist and slowly moves his

fingers down the side of her cheek, softly caressing it, and then down her neck.

_I know what I can't resist and it's not diamonds…it's what I see beneath the surface of her _

_know-it-all exterior…_

Lana reaches up and takes his hand. She turns it, and lightly kisses the fingertips. Then she lifts

the necklace over them until the diamonds rest in his fingers.

"Clark, have you ever had a better offer in your whole life? One that offers everything…? said as

she puts emphasis on the last word.

The fireworks are building to greater intensity, more rockets, firing faster.

Kent moves closer to her lips, saying, "I've never had a crazier offer, but one with so much…."

Lana says, "Just as long as you're satisfied," her voice husky.

_I want to give myself to this man, to open my heart and body in a way I've never before…_

Their lips come close together and then are touching lightly. He has a slight smile of

amusement on his face as he says, "You know, as well as I do, that necklace is imitation."

"Hmm…I'm not—but you are…Clark Kent." She smiles a little herself, then crushes her lips

against his.

"Lana, are you sure this is what you want, "he says, looking into her eyes filled with yearning,

"do you know what you could be getting yourself into?"

"I know what I want, who you really are…", she says breathlessly, as he leans her back onto the

sofa, lying along side her.

Their embrace pulls their bodies in close contact, each feeling the heat of the other through their

clothes. Clark reaches around and slowly pull the zipper of her dress down until his finger just

touches to top of her French cut underwear. When his hand part the two sides of the open dress,

his finger lightly touch her toned back, eliciting a detectable tremor from her.

Lana doesn't take her eyes off his while she pushes his jacket back and off his shoulders. Their

next kiss is more heated because they know they're close to a greater intimacy than either has

experienced. One that will be the first of significance for Lana while it will have Clark risk his

carefully cultivated solitude as she storms the fortress that he has created to protect himself.

She slowly opens his pearl white dress shirt, button by button, leaving a trail of moistened kisses

on his chest. Her hands sweep under the opened shirt, peeling it off his tanned, muscular

shoulders. He let out a small groan as her lips graze his hardened stomach muscles.

He sits up, moving her with him. Placing his hands on her soft shoulder, while they stare into

each other eyes, he pulls down on the dress until it is at her waist, revealing a light colored bra

that matches the tops of her shockingly brief panties.

She stands as though it were a dance move, and steps out of the dress. Turning to Clark, she rakes

her fingers through his hair. He slides his hands up along her outer thighs, stopping at the small

waist, starting to pull her down to him. She glides into his arm, slipping between his legs. As their

faces come close they both attempt to capture the others lips, tongues jousting for entry..

Soon they are without clothes, the only light that of the intermittent fireworks.

"Lana, you don't know me, "said as their bodies are pressed together, but not yet joined. "What

can I offer you that won't bring you disappointment and pain.?"

_I want the trust we've begun to share in each other to be deepened by our lovemaking…_

Lana moves so that she is under him, her eyes wide and intense, holding his gaze, "I know you,

and I know that we can have something few people in the world have, "she says, closing the

distance between their lips, parting his with her tongue.

_This is a woman I could spend the rest of my life with…_

As he joins them together his heart feels lighter than it has in many years

Outside is an explosion of fireworks that spin and whirl frenetically, throwing off violent colors.

It builds dramatically to a peak of intensity, and then dies slowly away into red glowing embers,

and then a quiet, peaceful darkness.

They fall into a quick slumber after their intense lovemaking. Not long after, Clark wakes as she

briefly stirs on his chest, murmuring unintelligible sounds of contentment, her arm clasping his

waist.

Lying with her he feels the complete rightness of their lovemaking. A part of him that has

struggled to trust other people, especially those not known for years, has begun to change with

Lana's presence. He has placed a trust in her that dares hope for a future together.

Reluctantly rising, but carefully, so as not to disturb her, he plucks a coverlet from a nearby

chair, draping it over her as one would cape a queen. The presence of her slender form lying

beneath the cover seems at once too small to match his feelings for her, and immensely more than he has any right to expect.

He stands silently observing her sleep, her unguarded face a story he could read for years and

not know its ending.

…_I don't want to leave the warmth of her…but I must take care of business, to free myself…to _

_free both of us from the past…_

He quickly writes a note to leave with her…

"Lana, dearest,

I did not want to wake you from your peaceful…and well deserved slumber. Truth be told, I

enjoyed looking at you in this angelic state.

I have some business I must attend to, but would very much desire your company later this

evening for an after dinner drink, if you are free.

Yours,

Clark

An hour later Kent has left Lana's suite and now stands in front of open French windows at the

end of the short corridor leading off the main corridor next to Nell Lang's suite. He looks out into

the night. He then steps out cautiously onto the small balcony, and turns to scan the exterior of the

building, looking closely along it surface. He pauses, thoughtful for a few moments. Then he

leaves and returns to his room.

Soon after, Clark is sitting in the dark, next to the window in his bedroom suite. He is thinking of

what has happened tonight, of the closeness and trust he is starting to feel for Lana. He sits

quietly with these new feelings as he looks out into the night. The covers on his bed have been

turned down, but it is unoccupied. As he sits still a flood of light suddenly fans into the room, and

over him, as the door is thrown open, the inside doorknob banging against the wall. Clark remains

in complete control of himself, hardly moving. He turns his head carefully as he looks toward the

door.

He sees the figure of a woman standing framed in the doorway.

Kent rises to face her.

She speaks without moving.

"Give them back to me, " Lana says with no friendliness in her voice.

She walks into the room. As Kent goes to meet her he says, "Just what did you have in mind,

Lana?"

She doesn't move, speaking through gritted teeth, "Give them back to me. Nell's jewels."

"I don't have them, " his voice has the barest trace of dismay and disbelief.

_So soon, the warmth and feelings have flown…_

Suddenly and angrily, she attacks him, almost sobbing. Her fists beat at him, she tries scratching,

kneeing, anything she can think of to hurt him. He struggles with her silently, warding off most of

her blows, letting her deliver the hurt she seems to desire. He succeeds in pulling her into his

room, and closing the door behind them.

Inside, he subdues her somewhat, pressing her up against the wall, her hands held by his above

her shoulders. Their faces are close, breathing into each other. His face is intense and purposeful.

"When did it happen?" he asks sincerely.

Her disappointment is so great as she struggles with tears.

"When I was asleep…after we… " her voice cracking with disappointment.

He releases her, and starts for the door, saying, "Let's have a look."

She reaches after him, grabs his arm. "There's only one place to look—and that's right here, in

your room."

He stared at her, a flicker of pain in his eyes, his mouth sagging, as he pulls his arm away from

her, then opens the door.

"Help yourself, look all you want, " he says, quickly walking out the door.

When he has gone she remains pressed against the wall a moment, then reaches and turns on the

light. Slowly her eyes travel around the room, hoping to find nothing.

Clark goes to Nell's suite, knocking rapidly on the door. She opens the door and asks, "Did you

meet Lana? Did she tell you what happened?"

Giving Nell a nod of greeting he looks around the suite. "Yes. She's downstairs now—searching

my room. "

Nell follows him into the room, tightening her negligee. "What? That doesn't make sense. She

said she knew where my jewelry was."

"She was wrong," he says, having finished examining the living room. "Could I look at your

bedroom?

"Certainly, if you think it will do any good, " Nell says, puzzled that he is searching here and

Lana is searching his room. "I think we should call the police and the hotel manager. They always

like to get in on these things."

"I agree. But will you let me look around first, Nell?

Nell shrugs. "I don't care. I'd be just as happy if you didn't find anything."

Kent, who has turned toward Lana's bedroom, stops, looks directly at Nell.

"Why…don't you care…?"

"I'm a little tired of wearing those things. It was exciting at first—but now…it's more exciting to

have them stolen."

As Kent starts for Lana's bedroom, with Nell following, he says, " Of course you don't lose

anything financially—with Hughson around to cover the loss."

When the two of them enter Lana's bedroom from the sitting room doorway, Nell explains, "I'd

be crazy to take this attitude if I wasn't covered financially."

Kent looks around Lana's room and sees draped over the back of a dark green chair the bathing

suit Lana wore earlier. Looking at it causes a dry taste in his mouth, as he feels like she is in the

room.

Nell asks, "Why in the world did Lana suspect you, Mr. Burns—a wood cutter from Oregon?

"I am anything but that, Nell. My real name is Clark Kent. I used to be a jewel thief. That was

some years ago."

Passing through the bathroom, Nell's voice bounces off the tiles, "Well, what a wonderful

surprise that is!"

"Somehow, I can't get too excited about it."

When the two of them enter Nell's bedroom he quickly checks all the ways in or out.

Turning away, he looks into the bathroom, and says, "He came down through the airshaft."

Nell is thoughtful for a moment, taking in all that he has said about who he really is, "If you're

not Mr. Burns, why do you call yourself that? And not—what was that other name?"

"Clark Kent," said as he turns back into the room. "Where did you keep your jewelry,? " he asks.

She points to a dresser. "The top drawer. Watch out for fingerprints."

Going to dresser he says, "There won't be any." He examines the drawer, and the empty jewel

case inside. Nell sits on the edge of the bed watching him.

"Did they get everything?" he asks.

"From what I can tell they got everything." Changing the subject, she says,"Lana must have

known about you all along."

Kent begins examining the window and frames. "Today she guessed who I was."

Turning to her he asks, "Do you sleep soundly?"

As she stares at him, not responding he starts to repeat his question, "Nell—"

"Oh, I know…it's the old story, "she says, lightly. "You want to go straight, but

the gang won't let you."

"In this case, the gang is the law— "

He's interrupted when the door to the short passage opens, and Lana enters. She is still wearing

the imitation necklace.

He finishes what he was saying, staring at Lana,

" —and now that I think of it, neither will your niece."

"Nell, don't talk to him." Turning to Clark she says, "Don't touch anything.

You're not going to cover up any clues."

"There aren't any clues to cover up. He came in there— pointing to bathroom—took the stones,

and went out the same way."

Lana says, "You know how "he" got in here as well as. I know how," said with an accusatory

stare.

Some part of him still willing to plead his case asks quietly, "Did you find anything in my room?"

"I certainly did!"

He looks skeptically at her. "You did not find any of your mother's things."

She strolls around the bed toward them, with the look of someone about to share interesting news.

"You gave them to your accomplice. But I did find that the clothes of Mr. Burns—the

American—all had French labels in them." Raising her finger like a court room attorney

dramatically making a point. And—I found this!" She pulls the list from behind her.

"Nell, here is a list of everyone on the Riviera who has jewelry worth stealing." Opening the list,

she says, "Listen to what it says about us."

Kent quickly grabs the list away from her.

Lana seems unconcerned, saying, " What good is that going to do you? You're already caught—I

called the police from your room. I told them who you were and what you did tonight."

He looks at her calmly, a look of resignation becoming sadness on his face.

Lana says, "Nell—his name isn't Burns—he's a notorious jewel thief called 'The Cat.'"

Nell nonchalantly rises from the bed, gets a cigarette from a nearby table. She

reaches for a match. Clark and Lana watch her. While she has taken the news quite calmly, her

brow is furrowed in thought.

"Lana, what's he doing here now, huh? If he's already got the junk."

"He's…returning…to the scene of his crime," Lana says.

Nell blows the smoke away, as she looks closely at Lana. "Since when is love a crime?"

Lana is speechless with anger, her eyes shifting away from Nell's.

Kent smiles as he looks from Lana to Nell. His gaze, resting on Lana, softens.

Nell strolls to a chair, sits down, looks up at Lana and says, "His name is Kent—and for my

money, he's a real man —and not one of those wishy-washy, money grubbing types you usually

take up with.

Lana protests, "Nell—after all he's done—"

Nell shoots back, "After all, my foot. Why do you think we moved so many times? Your Uncle

was a little bit of a swindler—but a very loveable one."

She looks at Kent for a moment, with something like affection. "If you ask me, this one's a bigger

operator—on every level."

He smiles, and says, "Thank you, madam. "

Lana says angrily to Nell, "so this is why I've had to waste half my life traveling around the

world with you! To keep men like—like this away from you."

"Well, Lana, next time, let me run my own interference." She glances from Clark to Lana, seeing

the heat in the looks they're giving each other and says, "Looks like you're having all the fun

running interference." 

Exasperated, Lana seems to have forgotten her accusations as she appeals to Clark, "If she

doesn't have any common sense, I— "

Nell loudly interrupts, "That's enough!"

She gets up, strolls between the two of them. "My baubles were stolen. And if I don't care—why

should you? And they were insured." She pauses, and then says, "Now, the real question is—

where do we go from here?"

There is a loud knocking at the outside door.

Lana looks across to Kent with flushed cheeks and a grin, and says triumphantly, "To jail." She

turns and leaves the room, heading for the front door.

Lana quickly goes to open the door and let in an assistant manager with two uniformed and two

plains clothed policemen. "Gentle men, thank you for coming so quickly, let me take you to The

Cat." She turns, and motions them to follow her. The group moves grimly toward Nell's

bedroom.

As Lana enters the bedroom she stops short, with a bewildered look on her face.

Nell is sitting comfortably in the bedroom holding an open book in her hands. There is no sign of

Kent. Nell looks up with a startled expression as the police crowd into the room behind Lana, all

of them lined up around her bed.

Surprised Lana asks, "Where is he?"

Nell offers her most innocent look and tone of voice, "Sorry…who…he?

Lana is livid as she looks at her aunt, so angry she can't speak. One of the policemen says,

"where is Clark Kent?"

Nell looks up at the police and hotel assistant manager as though seeing them for the first time,

and says, "Never heard of him."

At the same time, not far away, on the roof of the Carlton Hotel, Kent is crouching near the edge

of the roof. He is listening intently as dawn breaks, with deep pastels from the rising sun.

Lana's voice drifts up from the open window below. "Nell —the book you are reading is upside

down."

Smiling ruefully, Kent doesn't wait for any further information. He turns and moves over the

dangerously steep roof with quick, sure, cat-like movements. He passes behind a nearby chimney.

He continues over the roof with increasing speed until he is lost from sight, the excited voices of

the French police searching the Lang apartment fading away.

Lepic's small office is crowded with police detectives and a few uniformed officers. The doorway

is open, and beyond it are secretaries that are trying to keep the newspapermen, eager for a story,

from barging into Lepic's office. The secretaries have a fairly easy job as few of the

newspapermen want to brave Lepic's wrath.

Lepic is standing behind his desk, and next to him is his assistant Mercier. Lepic is in a rage, an

enlarged vein visible on his flushed forehead. While he talks, there is an undercurrent buzz of

excitement outside of the office, from newspaper reporters wanting to speak with Lepic about the

Cat.

Lepic ignores the them and says in French, " J'ai bien envie de tous vous recommander pour une

diminution de salaire—" And then, smiling indulgently at a contingent of law enforcement

associates from the UK, he switches to English, "I definitely want to recommend you all for a pay

cut — You are well prepared, with almost a hundred men and women involved in

this…[b]debacle[/b], responsible for watching and following this single individual who lives in

one the biggest hotels of Cannes, who goes and comes…and you stupidly let him slip between les

doigts…your fingers!

Holding up that morning's newspaper, with the headline [b]The Cat Is Loose Again, Police

Baffled[/b] he slowly tears it into strips, while his eyes scan the group of detectives and police.

When all that remains is something that looks like a pile of confetti he drops it in the garbage can,

daintily brushing his hands together.

"Now, "pausing to ensure he has everyone's attention, "here's how we are going to catch him."

At the Carlton Hotel, in a sumptuously appointed sitting room, Lana and Nell are standing some

distance apart, glaring at each other. The air feels charged with the argument they are in the

middle of, as they each prepare for the next volley of belligerence.

Nell says first, "What were you thinking of when you told the police that Kent did the robbery?

"Who else could have done it,?" Lana replies heatedly.

"We might be in France—but I'm still an American citizen. And where I come from a man is

innocent until he is proved guilty! Proved, not suspected!

"That won't be hard!" Lana says.

"What's bothering you is that Kent is the first man who wouldn't fall down and roll over for

you." Nell thrusts her finger at Lana, "He came to you with a wealth of experience that somehow

helped him see something special in you, to see past the spoiled rich girl."

"Nell—I thought he was the one, I cared for him, more than the physical…" Lana says

breathlessly, "he played both of us for fools!" Her eyes casts down, looking at her hands, "I let

him in to my life…and he betrayed me…us."

"Lana, you've been hurt and it has caused you to lash out, and to try to find a reason for that

hurt," Nell said, her tone exasperated. "I understand, but put the pain aside for a moment."

"He's a thief, a liar…a deceiver," Lana says, her voice getting quieter.

"Just what did he steal from you?" Nell asks intently.

"Oh, auntie –I…I've never felt like this before, and it wasn't the bedroom part, although that was

wonderful…he seemed like someone I could share my life with…, "Lana's voice cracks with

disappointment. I was even foolish enough to tempt him with my jewelry, trying to see if he'd

really changed. I made believe I'd be his partner in his crimes as The Cat, as though I were a

silly, thrill seeking ninny." She shakes her head at her foolishness, "and then for him to go ahead

and steal from us after he looked me in the face and denied he was The Cat…it hurts", she sighs.

"Lana dear, sit down while I tell you about life—and Clark Kent.

Lana looks at Nell without answering and sits on the sofa.

"You remember I mentioned investigating our Mr. Kent, " she offers a knowing smile to Lana,

"You all probably thought I was too drunk to follow up…but …I never forget."

"What are you talking about, Nell? " she asks.

"Your Dear Clark was a war hero, "as Lana looks at Nell as if to say 'I know that', Nell

continues, "but…what you don't know is that he considers himself a failure of the worst kind."

"Clark…a failure….what, "Lana asks uncertainly.

"For a pretty penny in private investigator's fees I've put the story together, " Nell says, rubbing

her hands together as she warms to her story telling. "He had been rescuing people, in particular

whole families that the locale Gestapo had marked for the death camps. So, with time of the

essence he would do whatever it took to get them to safety. Often at great peril to himself.

"Yes, Nell," Lana said quietly, "that is certainly commendable, but what does that have to do with

his behavior now…with him stealing from us?"

"Let me finish, "holding her index finger up, "Over the course of nearly three years he manages

to spring loose from the Germans many families, nearly 300 men, women and children."

"My god…that is…incredible…"Lana is struggling with her emotions, with these different views

of this man.

"Near the end of the war he'd been working on the rescue of a family of 7, " Nell paused, rubbing

her eyes as though visited by a great fatigue.

"What, Nell, what happened…?" Lana's voice rises.

"The night he was to spirit them away he was captured by two of the local Gestapo troopers.

They question him for several hours, trying to learn the names of his resistance

compatriots…"she stops and thinks a moment, "Through a stroke of luck he manages to escape. I

believe the word the investigator used was 'disable' them, how, I don't think I want to

know."

Lana was sitting, not moving, her eyes brimming at the thought of Clark being hurt.

_Clark…what pain he must have endured…_

"Once free he raced back to the home of the family he was to rescue, "she turned her head away

from Lana, looking toward the window, her shoulders bunched up. "The family had been taken

away, he was told by one of the town people. All Clark found were the shambles of their

possessions."

Lana was silently crying, her hands opening and closing over each other, reddening the skin.

"Now, this man becomes again a master thief," Nell says, "but rather than his heart being

hardened by he believes was his personal failure, he chooses to help families with his 'ill-gotten

gains'. The records we found show support for, at various times, 13 families, up until the present

"Guess what comes next? " Lana says rhetorically. "He quits as The Cat, some years ago. Now he

supports himself, rather well, on his grape and flower cultivations and sales.

"This brings us to the present day, 1954 in glorious Cannes, "Nell smiles slightly, glad to have the

darker part of the story behind her. "He has had a reasonably active romantic life, with a wide

variety of woman intensely interested in him."

"What do you mean, what kind of interest, "Lana asks, a note of jealousy in her voice.

"My dear, I mean they seemed to want to have sex with him, or whatever he'd offer."

"Oh…"

"But he always seems to be pushing them away, acting the 'lone wolf' role, " Nell's is looking

intently out the window, deep in thought, "About a year ago he seems to have stopped dating

entirely, almost as though he were resigned to living alone.'

"Alone…you mean…no one, " Lana asks.

"And then he meets…, "Nell glances at Lana and continues, "you, and he seems to come alive, to

open up to you."

"Ok, ok, I see now…that I've been terribly wrong about him, that I let my emotions blind me,

jumping to the easy conclusion, exactly the thing that would most destroy the trust he had placed

in me…the same kind of trust I expected him to have with me…"Lana let outs a loud breath, and

leans forward, her arms resting on her thighs, head hanging down.

Across town, in Bertani's restaurant four detectives are quickly coming into the kitchen, stopping

only long enough to spot their target. They surround La Mule and grab two other chefs by the

arms, starting to lead them out of the kitchen.

La Mule exclaims, "Moi? Quest ce que vous voulez que je sache! What is it you think I know!

You imagine I would pass the whole day with dinnerware water if I had several millions of

jewelry?"

The other two kitchen men are also protesting their innocence, but the detectives ignore them,

shoving and pushing the men toward the entrance.

Bertani hurries into the kitchen, yelling, "wait, wait, where are you taking them…?" He looks

from one detective to another, but gets no response, just glares returned. Bertani sits down on a

bench as the three men are hustled out of the kitchen. Bertani looks at the other kitchen help and

sees startled and frightened looks on their faces.

Meanwhile, at the Beach Club two detectives have pulled Loilan Foussard, in her bathing suit, a

distance from the beach crowd and are closely questioning her. She protests that she does not

know anything about Kent and his activities. She seems almost in tears. Her swimming

companion, Claude steps in between her and the police belligerently, but they turn on him with

questions that make him hesitate, move back from the confrontation. Other people on the beach

watch the interrogation. The other people cannot distinguish the voices, but they can see by the

expressions and body language of the detectives that they mean business.

At about this same time two detectives come through the doorway of Kent's villa. Germaine tries

to block their way, but they push her aside, one of them shoving a search warrant into her hand.

Gemaine shouts in French, "Vous n'avez pas le droit d'entrer ici!, and then exclaims in English,

"You do not have the right to enter here!" She looks at warrant in her hand — "I do not know

how to read!"

One of the detectives immediately begins searching the room; the other moves toward a

chest of drawers and abruptly stops when Noir, the black cat, stands up in a chair hissing and

spitting at him.

Germaine scolds them, "Et le chat ne sait pas lire non plus! "And the cat does not know how to

read either!" Gem of a line.

While all the known contacts and locations of the Cat are being interrogated or searched a lone

fisherman sits out on the end of a pier at the Cannes harbor. This deceptively big man is sitting on

the part of the pier that extends into the gentle blue waters of the harbor. The man is wearing a

wide brimmed hat to protect him from the sun, as he sits near a tall brick lighthouse.

Another person stands in front of the lighthouse behind him. It is Hughson, who takes off his hat,

and mops his forehead with a handkerchief. Kent looks into the water, and says, without turning

around, "Harry, do you believe I did the Lang job?"

"I might have…until you sent for me," Harry says to the back of Clark's head, so that anyone

looking at them from afar will not think they are together, "If you had done it, you would hardly

risk my bringing the police here with me."

"Thank you for that courtesy, Harry."

"Clark, why did you come out in the open, he asks, "you've been safely in hiding for several

days...?"

"I need your help."

"Hmm…well, perhaps I need your help even more. You see my superiors at the London Office— "

Clark lifts a hand to interrupt Harry, "this time I might solve some of your problems. Possibly all

of them."

With a note of hopefulness he says, "That's too much to hope for."

"I've been watching one of the villas on your list for the last three nights, "Clark says.

Hughson asks, "Which one?"

"The Silvas—that South American couple." Clark pauses, and says more urgently, "Somebody

else is watching it too. I've seen him in the dark—but haven't managed to get close enough to

catch him."

"Has he seen you, Clark?"

"Probably, if he's as good as I think, "Clark say, "I want to set a foolproof trap tonight—and I

need the assistance of the police. Naturally, I can't approach them."

Hughson thinks a moment, and says," How do you know he'll be there tonight…?"

Kent takes out a folded piece of paper, hands it to Hughson, interrupting his speech.

"Somebody gave this to Germaine, my housekeeper."

Hughson takes the paper unfolds it, and reads:

KENT-N'ALLEZ PAS À LA VILLA DES SILVA CE SOIR... C'EST À MOI TOUR DE FAIRE

LE CHAT—PAS À VOUS.

Hughson looks at Clark and asks, "What does it say?"

"Kent–stay away from the Silvas Villa. It's up to me to make the Cat-come to you.

In other words, It's his night to howl, not mine," Clark says as he chuckles.

"Look, Harry—do me this favor…tell Lepic to have the police surround the Villa Pampas

sometime after midnight."

"You're actually going there?"

Not looking at him, Clark says calmly, "Of course."

"But Clark—this note is obviously the bait for a trap. Someone wants you to go to the Silvas

tonight."

Turning to look Harry in the eyes, he says, "I know it."

"Possibly to kill you."

After a slight pause Clark says, "Will you talk to Lepic…?"

Harry is upset at the risk that Clark will be taking, "All right, but if this—this—Cat doesn't show

up—the police might get you—and the whole thing will turn out badly. Maybe I'd better go along

tonight as your alibi."

"Harry, I know you get your insurance at a discount, "said as Clark turns and smiles at him"—but

why should you take any foolish chances?"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapitre Onze

Later that evening Kent, dressed entirely in black, stealthily enters the grounds of a large

villa surrounded by dark cypress trees. The villa is isolated from other residences, on a

promontory jutting out into the sea. Starting at the water's edge is a high stone wall,

along which there are wide steps.

Kent is carefully making his way up these steps under a moonless sky. Although the

night is nearly pitch black he can see the steps rise up toward the front of the house. He

can hear no sound above the slight breeze whispering through the cypress trees. He

stops near one of the trees to listen but hears nothing unexpected near the villa.

Looking up at the villa he sees a light behind the shades of a second floor right room,

which soon go out.

Toward the side of the villa, within the dark shrubbery beyond, he notices a slight

movement in the foliage, which could be the breeze. In this dim light the shadows seem

to move. He holds his breath to enhance his hearing. He thinks he hears, in the

distance, the slip and grind of gravel, as though someone was stepping cautiously over

it.

He glances across a stretch of lawn at a series of short trees, realizing that any one of

them could be mistaken for a man. One or two of them move slightly in the breeze.

Looking back down toward the stone steps, which lead to the water, he can hear the

waves swirling around the rocks below.

Kent flattens his body against the darkest part of the nearest tree. He sees the other low

hanging trees shudder successively down the wall, as though someone was passing

behind them.

The wind comes in a brief, noisy gust as Kent is savagely choked around his neck.

Twisting and turning violently, he gets a quick glance of Foussard, Bertani's wine

steward tightening his hold as the two of them silently struggle.

Kent glimpses another man's arm raised above him, about to crash a club onto his head.

Kent quickly spins around so that the repeated blows intended for him rap viciously on

Foussard's head. Suddenly the hand with the club hesitates as the sound of shouts and

police whistles reach them from a distance.

Foussard's grip loosens and his arms let go after having received the blows intended for

Kent, who twists free of the other's body. Foussard steps back falteringly, spins, and is

lost to sight as he tumbles over the rail of the sea wall.

Kent runs to the railing in time to see his attacker hit the rocks. At the increased sound of

approaching police he disappears into the shrubbery.

Arriving soon behind him are half a dozen running police with flashlights. Not seeing

anyone they look over the sea wall and their lights pick out the sprawled body below.

They quickly make their way down the stone steps to the rocks, almost immediately

finding the body of Foussard.

The next morning Lana and Nell are out for a walk when Nell says, "Lana, you can't

keep beating yourself up over your mistake."

"I did him a serious wrong…one that I think has hurt him…I don't know, maybe

disappointed him, " she says, walking with her head down, concentrating only on the

thoughts plaguing her. "Nell, that night I felt closer to him than any person…,"glancing at

Nell to see if she has taken this statement the right way, understanding that it was not

intended to diminish her relationship with Nell, "…you know…in that way…"

"I know dear, you've kissed many a frog, "Nell says, smiling, "only to find your prince in

thieves' clothing."

"No more…now I know that is his past…"lifting her head, she says firmly, "I want…I hope

to be his future."

"You two need to talk, "Nell says as they pass a street corner news stand with a headline

poster that reads in large black letters: "LE CHAT EST MORT". Coins are being tossed

into a cigar box, and many hands are pulling papers off the pile.

About a dozen people are standing around the news stand, reading the front page of the

paper.

Not able to read French, Nell does not realize the significance of the headline, "Looks

like quite a fuss over some local news."

"Just a minute…," Lana says quickly, seeing the headline.

She moves toward the news stand, and buys a paper. Once she looks at the headline,

she holds the paper in front of her, and she reads the article as walks slowly along the

sidewalk.

"What is it, Lana? At first you looked like someone you knew had died."

Lana looks up, "No…no…it can't be…it says the…. The Cat burglar is dead," her voice

breaking.

_Clark…please…not like this…not without…_

Nell is alarmed, "What, your Clark Kent?"

Lana is frantically scanning the paper. "Oh…god…it was a man named Foussard—a

wine steward from a restaurant, " she says, feeling a weird sense of relief at someone

else having died.

Lana stares past the paper into space, her face strained with emotion.

Nell says, her voice full of relief, "Honey, you'd better start practicing your apologies. In

two languages, parlez vous?

Across town, in a small office, Lepic is seated at his desk, while Hughson stands along

side the desk. The latest edition of the newspaper lies in front of Lepic, with his picture

included with the story.

Hughson holds a check in his hand as he says, "You're positive Foussard was the Cat?"

"I see no reason to change the story that I have given to the newspaper," Lepic says

dryly.

"That's hardly a direct answer, Chief Inspector."

Lepic says with some impatience, "I cannot give you another. Now if you excuse me— "

Hughson interrupts him, "One more point, Monsieur Lepic," as he holds up a piece of

paper. "This is a check for eighty thousand dollars. Since you have caught, and

unfortunately killed, The Cat— "

"In our opinion, he killed himself attempting to escape justice."

"Either way. I've been instructed by my company to pay off the Lang claim. I'd rather not

do this, if recovery of the jewelry is imminent, Hughson asks. "Is it?"

Lepic pauses for a long moment and then says, "…it will take time."

Just then Kent walks in the open door, and having heard Lepic's words he says, "it will

take several centuries."

Both the men turn toward Kent, who is dressed in fine linen paints and a light jacket over

an open collar dress shirt. He has a look of slight amusement on his face, as he briefly

leans up against the open doorway.

"Congratulations on your capture, Chief Inspector Lepic." As he sits down in a nearby

chair with the two men watching him, he says, "All's well that ends well.

"What is it you want Monsieur Kent, an apology for rough handling? "Lepic sneers.

"No, that would certainly be expecting too much from our esteemed police, "Clark says,

a slight smile on his lips. "Everything is fine now. The newspapers have their headlines.

The rich tourists can relax. You, Lepic, have your publicity and possibly a

commendation from the Paris office. We all got something good out of it, except of

course Hughson's company. But, they can afford it, eh, Hughson?

"Well it has cut into company assets."

Clark says, "Poor Foussard. I never would have guessed it was him. An ordinary wine

waiter. A family man. And a wooden leg." At this last description Hughson is suddenly

startled. He puts the check back into his pocket.

Clark looks knowingly at him. "Oh, didn't you know? Lost it in the War. Isn't it

remarkable? A man with a wooden leg teaching himself to climb up walls and over roofs

with the agility of a four–footed cat?

Hughson quickly looks at Lepic. "Is that true?"

Lepic grudgingly admits, "I believe he had a—bad leg."

Clark gets up from the chair and says calmly , "And it was certainly in good taste of you

to keep it out of the newspapers."

He walks to the door and says, "Well, I think it's only fitting to attend Foussard's funeral

and pay my last respects." He stops and turns to look at the two men, "…and at the

same time, I should be able to get a good look at the real Cat—who will certainly be

there, purring at this good news."

Hughson looks very interested in this last statement, "You know who the Cat is?"

Clarks says, "—I do."

Lepic tenses, moves forward and upward a little in his chair, looking intently at Kent.

"Well— tell the Chief Inspector who it is, " Hughson says.

Smiling, Clark says, "He wouldn't believe me, " nodding to Lepic.

"Then try me," says Hughson.

"You would also find it hard to believe. When I catch the Cat on a rooftop, with a handful

of stolen diamonds, then—"

Lepic jumps to his feet, his face scarlet, and interrupts, "Monsieur Kent! It is only

because I have given this story to the newspapers that you are free! But the day where I

catch you on the top of a roof, with or without jewels, I shall be more than happy to end

your career!", he says, with a grim expression.

Clark smiles pleasantly, pretending not to notice the t**h**reat, "Lepic—that's all I wanted to

know. Good day, gentlemen." He goes out the door, and down the corridor, whistling a

light melody. Lepic sits down heavily in his chair, fingering his revolver, annoyed by

Clark's whistling.

After leaving Lepic's office, Kent makes his way to the Cap Ferret Cemetery. There, a

gathering of about fifty people surrounds a grave site with an array of flowers displayed.

Along the wall overlooking the cemetery are groups of sightseers that have come to the

funeral because of the notoriety of the deceased- the infamous Le Chat. Photographer's

flashbulbs periodically throw a stark, white light onto the faces at grave side. There are

newsreel photographers present, and a number of uniformed police throughout the

crowd.

While most of the mourners are men, also present is Foussard's daughter, Loilan. She is

standing, black–clothed, among them. There are very few women around, except among

the spectators. At the head of the grave is a priest, and beside him a small altar boy

holding a container of holy water, reciting the burial service in Latin.

Kent stands among the mourners at one end of the grave, his eyes moving slowly over

the faces of the other mourners.

He sees most of the kitchen staff men from Bertani's restaurant. Next to them is Claude

from the Beach Club, the man Clark suspected of going through his jacket to look over

the list of wealthy individuals. One by one each of these men notice Kent, glancing

indifferently at him, their expressions uniformly sad at Foussard's funeral.

Kent looks compassionately at Loilan, who has her head bowed. Despite her recent

unwanted attentions he still thinks kindly of her, that she is simply young and driven by

her emotions, not sure yet of what she really wants. He is thinking that this is a hard

blow for her, knowing that she wears her emotions on her sleeve.

Bertani catches Kent's eye and gives him a slight nod and smile of recognition. He starts

to move towards Kent. Claude follows closely behind him, like a bodyguard.

Kent does not acknowledge Bertani's nod, wondering what the older man will have to

say. Kent studies him for a moment until Bertani is standing slightly behind him.

Bertani speaks to him in a low whisper. "A most unhappy affair, eh, Kent?"

"Unhappy because it isn't me down there?," probing the other man to determine his

feelings.

Bertani doesn't respond directly, instead he says, "Poor Loilan—I have great

compassion for her."

"I'll look out for her," Kent says. "What do you suppose happened to the things he stole?"

Bertani shrugs and says, "That's a mystery. The Police have looked in every one of his

known hangouts."

"Someday the stolen items will turn up."

"The boys owe you many thanks," Bertrani says.

"What for?," Kent says, looking at Loilan to see how she is holding up.

"You know... for you risking prison to capture Le Chat."

"Oh…that, "Kent says, as though it is of no importance.

Bertani smiles, "But you have no reason to complain, eh?"

"I don't know what you mean. "

"I'm talking about the American girl—what's her name?"

"Oh—Lana Lang," Kent says, feigning ignorance, as the name pierces him. "That the

one?"

"What deal huh? A beautiful woman, in love with you–rich

beyond your dreams—"

"If that were all it took…," Kent says, his voice tight.

"Sorry, what did you say…?" Bertani asks.

"Nothing," a quick smile to hide his thoughts.

"When are you going to America?"

"Didn't know I was going…," Kent says.

"You will make a great mistake if you don't marry her and

return to your native country, " Bertani says.

"A few days ago…perhaps…now…that would be quite a mistake. Tell you what, why

don't we talk about it at the Sanford Gala party this weekend—between your catering

duties.

"But, you are not invited," Bertani says.

"I will be."

Bertani pauses before asking, "What costume will you wear?"

"Oh, I'll figure out something to surprise you."

"Good luck," Bertani offers.

"Well, that is very generous—considering that you have so little luck to spare, "Kent says

to Bertani.

Their conversation is interrupted by Loilan, her voice raised as she walks toward them

along the edge of the open grave. "Nous enterrons mon pere— We bury my pere —",

she barks at Kent, "who asked you to come here? Nobody invited you. Without you, my

pere would still live."

Clark is stunned, and puzzled by her behavior, thinking it must be her grief speaking.

Everyone turns to look at him as the news photographers close in and begin taking

pictures. The priest breaks off the funeral service with a shocked expression on his face

as he hears Loilan shouting.

Loilan steps closer to Kent and says, "Voila ce que vous etes—un ignoble assassin,

cynique et sans pitié! You are a Killer!, she shouts, " It's because of you he's dead!"

When she quickly comes close to Clark she is stopped by Bertani. She pushes his arm

aside.

"Loilan, You are wrong, " Bertani tells her.

"If nobody dares to say it, I shall make it clear. You are all a band of leeches "her hands

are waving violently, her face contorted with anger, " Get out of here you American

killer—voleur—murderer—!"

Clark slaps her sharply across the cheek. Loilan stops her tirade, blinking quickly,

stunned by his reaction.

Everyone is frozen in place, not making a sound, shock and indecision written on their

faces. Kent first stares Loilan, his disappointment apparent, then turns slowly and moves

up to the crowd and threading his way through them. Several men attempt to block his

path as he grimly looks each of them in eyes, firmly placing his hand on their chests and

moving them. He moves away from the grave as the people fall back to create a

passage for him. Press photographers hurry forward. The silence has become a low

murmur.

A few of the men advance threateningly toward Kent while Bertani comforts Loilan, who

is now sobbing. The priest resumes the service. Kent ignores the reporters and

photographers, and makes his way through the now thinning edges of the crowd toward

the gate.

Behind Kent are the staring faces of the crowd, who one by one turn their attention back

to the burial services. Kent feels a sense of melancholy coming over him.

He catches sight of a car that has just pulled up, and Lana stepping out as she spots

Kent.

Kent momentarily looks at her, hesitating, some part of him wanting to find comfort in her

arms—and then moves on.

Seeing him look at her with what appears to be a pained expression, Lana calls out,

quickly moving to him, "Clark!"

He stops, not yet committed to walking away from her…he turns, waits for her to reach

him.

Lana quickly closes the distance between them and says, "Are you going to make it hard

for me to apologize?"

He stares at her, taking in her expression and all that he has previously seen in her face,

and says, "Not at all. I'm sure you're sorry, " his voice quiet, held in reserve.

"You know I am. You must feel that I betrayed your trust…I myself feel as though I've let

you down. I am terribly…sorry…" she looks pleadingly at him, her hand on his arm,

groping for words to convey her feelings.

He stands, not moving, listening.

"Clark, until my aunt told me, I had no idea the things you were up against with this

business of the Cat," she says, standing close to him, "and I didn't help things by

foolishly jumping to the wrong conclusion."

"We all make mistakes—only some are a little closer to the mark than others."

Lana takes a deep breath to help control her racing heart, " Clark, what are your plans,

now?"

Clark interrupts her to say, "Now…what?"

"Now that The Cat burglar is dead," she says.

Clark looks toward the cemetery, "Foussard isn't The Cat."

Lana follows his glance, "…but the newspapers—"

"The man had a wooden leg."

"But wasn't he caught at a villa—trying to rob it?", Lana asks.

"He wasn't there to rob. He was there to kill me."

"Why…are you ok?"

"Yes…ok. I was getting too close to finding out who The Cat is, " he says.

Lana asks, "Then—who killed him?"

"I'll let you know when I find out, " he forces his resisting body to turn away from her, "

Goodbye, Lana." He says.

She reaches for his arm, "Clark—why bother?"

_Her touch…I would trade all the flowers in the world were it given honestly…_

"It's sort of a hobby of mine—the truth, " his saddened eyes searching hers.

"Let me do something to help you, to make up for my mistake, " Lana pleads.

_Now…standing here…I'm more convinced than ever…he is my one…_

"The one time you helped me was enough—for both of us."

Annoyed now, Lana says, stepping close to him, "Oh, don't talk like a film actor!"

Impatiently Clark says, "Look—I'm all out of thrills. I'm down to the hard work now. It's

not your style. Go find a playboy to have fun with."

"Somehow I knew you were going to act like this —injured, childish, unforgiving."

"Lana, you've made your apologies—now don't take up our time with a scene from some

old page in your diary." He starts to move around her.

She stops him, confronts him with her body blocking his movement. "Clark —I was

wrong about you, I think —you could be wrong about me."

He says, "I'm doomed to go through life never knowing. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have

a bus to catch."

Lana says forcefully, "I won't pardon you. I'm in love with you." She stops, uncertain, as

though she hadn't meant to say it.

_I have to put myself out there…to let him know how I feel…no matter the _

_consequences._

_I want to believe her…perhaps I don't deserve her…what kind of life could I offer _

_her…_

They stare at each other for several long moments. Both now feeling caught in the

momentum of their disagreement, their disappointments, looking for a way forward.

"Now that's…not an honest thing to say, " he says, uncertainly.

"Is it?"

"With you, words like that are routine playthings."

Lana says in firm voice, "Were…playthings…not now, now with you..."

He pauses, considering what she has said, "I'll tell you what. Here's a sporting, romantic

offer for you."

_Can we somehow make this work…I want to try…_

Lana says hesitantly, I—don't know if I'm up to it now."

"Get me an invitation, and I'll take you to the Sanford Gala."

"It's a costume party, Clark. Nobody can go without a costume."

"What will you be wearing?"

_She'd look lovely in any costume…_

"A Louis the Fifteenth ensemble. Nell and I got them from Paris.

"I'll have Germaine make me something to go with your costumes —I'll call you in a day

or so. He starts away, but then turns back. She stands there, watching him with an

expectant look.

"Lana, you're probably wondering why I want to go."

_One reason I want to go is…you…_

"I have an idea," she says.

"I Thought you might get a kick out of seeing a real live burglar," he says with a smile

that does not reach his eyes. "Of course, it won't be all laughs."

Lana says with concern, "And perhaps a little dangerous?"

He nods and smiles, "I figured you'd go for it. I'll try not to let you down. So long, Lana.

_We'll see what comes of this…_

He turns and walks away as her eyes brim with tears, while her expression is

determined.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapitre Twelve

On the night of the gala party moonlight falls on the rooftops of the Sandford villa, with

the sparkling Mediterranean beyond. The roof area is large, with a complex structure of

many brick chimneys and tiled gables providing deep shadows in which to hide from

prying eyes.

Below the roof is a courtyard, with lush gardens beyond. A steady stream of guests are

strolling onto to the grounds, all in Eighteenth Century French costumes, with many style

variations and colors. The guests move into the large dance area past a bandstand at

one end, with musicians playing lively music in welcome. Within the villa grounds they

pass lavishly provisioned buffet tables.

The entrance gate at the bottom of the driveway leading to the villa has a long line of

cars edging their way through the main gate. There are motorcycle police patrolling the

villa grounds in addition to police checking invitations of the people in each entering car.

Outside the fence surrounding the estate is a group of several dozen people watching

the arrivals. They are local people, some tourists taking pictures and a couple of news

photographers expecting celebrities to attend the party

At the main doorway to the house is a flight of broad, wide stone steps leading down

from a terrace. Beyond the top of the steps guests are walking through a set of large

double doors, to a brightly lit entrance hall. Standing in this doorway are Mr. and Mrs.

Sanford, in their regal costumes, greeting their guests. Once each new arrival good

naturedly makes their eighteenth century curtsies to the hosts, they move on down the

steps to the dance hall.

Anyone standing along side the hosts as they greet their guest would see, in addition to

resplendent costumes, a staggering display of fabulous jewelry in elegant settings.

Guests that have already arrived offer applause and smiles for the richly gowned and

costumed new arrivals.

Amidst this finery two drab-looking 18th Century characters stand with the onlookers.

They do not applaud or smile, as their eyes study every new entry. Their interest is not

entertainment but protecting the jewels and guests.

Bertani is standing near them, looking at the arriving guests, while his staff is busy

preparing the delectable foods for the buffet table. Among the staff helping to unload

champagne and other beverages is a sad looking Loilan - still grieving the loss of her

father. She is placing the bottles into large, ice–filled tubs.

There are three other serving girls, in addition to four chefs, and La Mule doing the

heavy lifting. They are all in 18th Century costumes, the women identically dressed as

serving maids. The waiters move in and out of this area, taking trays of food and

supplies to the various buffet tables in the main grounds. Claude, of the Beach Club, is

carrying a bucket of iced champagne bottles to a garden table.

Bertani goes to Loilan and gives her an affectionate pat on the shoulder, on his way into

the garden to check on the layout of the buffet tables.

At the front entrance the crowd has become larger and noisier as they are applauding a

grande dame who enters with two groomed Afghan hounds walking regally in front of

her.

Just behind her is Nell. Lana is following with Clark accompanying as her black-masked

attendant. Although Nell and Lana are guests staying at the villa they walk on to be

greeted by the Sanfords.

Bertani is supervising the work of his chefs as the buffet tables become busy. Noticing

the arrival of Lepic, and his assistant Mercier. he smiles and goes over to them.

"Chief Inspector, would you like some champagne?"

Lepic says, answering Bertani's smile," Only a little, we're on duty this evening."

Bertani serves them himself, getting glasses, and a bottle, pouring out three glasses.

They toast each other silently.

Standing nearby, Clark nudges Lana and nods toward the buffet tables where Bertani

and the police are sipping their champagne.

Lana whispers a warning to him, trying not to be obvious, "Clark, please be careful,

they're here to trap you."

He nods and says, "I will." as he grips the arms of the two women and moves them over

toward the buffet table. As the three of them come up to the table, Bertani and Lepic are

talking, while Mercier, Lepic's assistant, watches the ladies and Clark approaching.

Lepic says to Bertani, "I am sorry to have arrested some of your kitchen men. I only obey

orders."

Bertani responds, "I understand these things! The Law is the Law."

The attendant, who is Claude of the Beach Club, noticing Lana's arrival, asks,

"Champagne, Mesdames—Monsieur?

Lana replies, "Yes, please. "

Claude gets the glasses, and pours. Lepic, Bertani and Mercier pay no attention to the

group. Lepic and Bertani speak in French about the large quantity of food and drink that

the hosts have ordered for the gala.

While Lana sips her drink Clark pulls his black mask up to his eyebrows and takes a

drink of his champagne. Out of the corner of his eye Clark sees that Lepic is casually

observing him. He ignores him and smiles at Lana, quickly pulling his mask down.

When the music begins Clark invites Lana to dance and they leave Nell standing at the

buffet table.

Clark and Lana move onto the dance floor and are soon lost among the other couples,

except that his feathered headdress towers above the rest of the people.

"I didn't realize you were such a good dancer, Clark, " Lana says, feeling light on her feet

while she is in his arms.

"I try, not always as well as I'd like." he says.

She stares at his eyes, somehow more vivid when framed against the black of his mask.

_If eyes are the portals to the soul, then this man has one that is battered but not _

_defeated…one with a place for me_

Despite the weight and design of the 18th century costume and the new shoes, she is

wearing Lana doesn't feel the expected little aches and pains. Instead, she has a sense

of lightness as she whirls in Clark's arms, as though she could dance the night away. No

feeling of hurry, only a feeling of comfort and safety as she glides along side him,

gracefully weaving through other dancers, their costumes barely grazing the other

fabrics.

Clark experiences an odd sense of calming, as though he were being gently rocked in a

hammock a warm summer's day. Having Lana in his arms clears his mind of many

worrisome thoughts, allowing him to focus on what needs to be done tonight. What he

has to do to clear himself.

Allowing himself to be carried away with the role he is supposed to be playing, he twirls

and dips her gracefully, enjoying the pleasure he sees in her eyes. Staring into them and

then down at her full, parted lips, he can't restrain his desire to close over them.

Leaning down to her, as they slowly glide over the dance floor, he traces her upper lip

with his lips, where they are surrounded by his mask. She presses upwards with her lips,

gently sliding her tongue forward, tentatively touching his.

His hands clasp her tightly at the waist, pulling her close to him, their feet slowing, barely

in time with the music.

_How is it possible for her to be more lovely each time I'm with her…_

Lana places her hands on his chest, lightly entwining her fingers in his shirt.

_How do I know he's the one…how could I not know…_

When the music changes to a slower tempo she places her head on his chest, his arms

enclosing her, as they move together.

Lana pulls her head back to look up at Clark, her hand slowly peeling his mask up until

his lips are uncovered. Her other hand snakes around to his neck, pulling him down

toward her as their lips collide.

_The way I feel for her she could only become more lovely_

_How could I not know – my answer is in his kiss_

Momentarily breaking the kiss, Clark steers them toward a nearby alcove, large enough

for four people. Slipping into it they are partially out of sight of the guests, and the police.

"Clark, please be careful, "Lana says, anxiously, "if it doesn't look good…don't do it."

"I'll be as careful as the circumstances will allow, "he says, as his lips brush hers and he

breathes in her scent.

_For the first time…do I have someone…to be careful for…?_

"I think I see one of our watch dogs coming this way, "Lana says," probably to see what

we're up to."

"And, what are we up to, Miss Lang?"

"Only the stars, Clark." Lana says as she smiled.

Clark sees a second policeman coming toward them so he quickly pulls his mask down

and steps to the back of the alcove, in the shadows.

When he's ready Lana grasps Kent's hand and gently pulls him out of the alcove, toward

the dance floor.

The policemen stop when they see Kent and Lana return, and begin dancing. Although

the two of them seem less graceful than before, less animated, perhaps the results of

the evening's dancing.

Lana and Kent dance near to the bar where Nell is standing, stopping along side her.

"Hi kids, you having fun? "Nell asks, handing each of them a drink.

"Yes, thanks, Clark is a very good dancer, "Lana says.

Nell suddenly remembers something. "Oh, my heart pills!" She turns to Kent. "I can't , or

as least I shouldn't drink champagne without my pills. It makes my heart pound."

Lana asks, "Where did you leave them?"

"Silly me, I left them with the front desk, intending to pick them up." She turns to Kent

and says, "Would you be sweet, Clark, and go get them for me?"

"Of course." He turns and walks toward the main entrance.

Standing nearby, Lepic and his assistant have picked up this last part of the

conversation. They look casually toward Lana and her mother, with their eyes following

Clark's retreating figure. Lepic makes a motion to two of his detectives, indicating they

should follow Kent, keep him in sight.

Lana looks around and puts a cautioning hand on Nell's arm, and says guardedly.

"Nell!

Nell answers in a loud whisper. "Well, Lana! All I said was─"

Lana interrupts her, "Never mind what you said!" Said as she glances suspiciously at the guests.

Hearing this exchange, Lepic looks concerned, but is glad he has decided to have Kent

followed.

Kent moves quickly through the crowd, toward the main villa.

The two detectives give each other meaningful looks, put down their glasses and stroll

away casually in another direction.

Lepic and his assistant have a hurried consultation and go off in different directions.

Mercier stops in front of two costumed men and describes what costume Kent is

wearing, telling them that The Cat may be making his move. He moves off and the two

men go in different directions to spread the word.

Lepic comes up to the Sanfords and whispers to them. They look toward the party

grounds with apprehension. He calms them with confident assurances.

Bertani leaves the buffet table, moving quickly toward the kitchen section. He glances

over his shoulder without slowing his walk.

Soon after, Kent returns, moving through the crowd to Lana and Nell. He hands Nell her

pills. Lana whispers something to him and he looks around.

Kent and Lana move onto the dance floor and are soon lost among the other couples,

except that Kent's feathered headdress towers above the rest of the people.

Nell glances around, and seeing no one watching her, quickly drains the three

untouched glasses of champagne, one after another. Just as she puts down the third

glass, the attendant turns around and smiles as he sees that she has finished off all

three glasses. He picks up the bottle and offers her more. She smiles thankfully at him.

"Have you got any bourbon?" The attendant nods and hands her a bottle of bourbon.

Nell begins pouring herself a stiff drink.

On the entrance side of the dance floor two men stare as Lana and Kent dance.

Across the room two other policemen are watching Kent and Lana, who appear to be

having a good time.

On the far aide of the dance floor two more police take a position and watch Kent's

feathers moving over the heads of other dancers.

When two more enter, the floor is completely surrounded by watching police.

A little farther away, Lepic moves near the dance floor like a commanding general

watching his troops. He rocks on his heels with satisfaction.

Kent is moving Lana through the crowded dance floor, easily seen in his black costume

and matching face mask. Now there is no dipping are gliding of the two, only the stately

movements of Kent with Lana in his arms.

The number of dancers has thinned out considerably, as well as the spectators. Kent

and Lana are still dancing. The still figures of the watching police are slightly more

conspicuous.

Much later, the band sounds a little tired, playing for only six couples dancing on the

floor, one of which is Lana and Kent. They seem tireless. There are so few dancers that

it is obvious that the police are watching.

Lana and Kent are dancing to the slow and sleepy music of the band. They are alone on

the floor. Some of the detectives are talking together. They look over their shoulders

occasionally at the dancing pair.

Bertani, who is supervising the cleaning of one of the buffet tables smiles with

satisfaction at Kent's predicament.

Lepic has now been joined by his assistant Mercier. He seems quite pleased with the

way he has bottled up Kent. He and Mercier exchange satisfied looks as the music ends.

Kent graciously escorts Lana off the dance floor, past the watching police. The police

begin to half-heartedly edge forward after the pair. Lepic stops them with a gesture, and

indicates with his fingers that just two men should follow them.

Lana and Kent move arm in arm down the corridor of the Sanford Villa toward Lana's

room. She opens the door of her room.

One of the policemen cautiously peeks around the hallway corner.

They see Lana in the half-open door, Kent standing in the corridor. Lana enters the

room, but Kent seems to hang back, hesitating. Then Lana's arm reaches out, takes him

by the hand, and starts to pull him in.

While the first officer watches Lana's door, one of the other policemen runs to open a

window at the end of the corridor, and leans out to peer down the side of the building.

In the suite that Lana and Nell are sharing, the older woman is sleeping in an armchair.

Lamp light is bathing the right side of her face. Lana glances out their window, which

looks out onto the courtyard of the Villa. She turns and sits on a chair, almost exhausted.

Kent, still in masked costume, slumps onto the sofa. He takes off his plume and tosses it

onto the bed.

Lana says, sarcastically, "Wasn't that fun?"

As her dance partner takes off his mask Hughson's face comes into view.

He says, with an exhausted expression on his face. "I hope the home office appreciates

what I've gone through for them. Oh, my feet are about to fall off."

"Oh, come now, you didn't have to dance that long, "she says, smiling, "Clark did most of it."

"Yes, indeed, " Harry says, "and by the look of your "closeness" in the alcove, neither of

you was feeling any pain."

"Um...yes, that was a tight squeeze for the three of us©¤ "Lana says, pretending to not

know what he means, her smile quickly following.

Lana stands up, looks at Nell sleeping. "Nell was quite a little actress tonight."

Hughson says, "I thought she played her part rather well." He laughs, "Heart pills,

indeed."

Lana goes to the window, turning out the light on the way. She looks through the

curtains.

"Don't worry about him, Lana."

"How can I help it?"

Lana looks up at the moonlight wondering if Clark is safe.

Above them, Clark is crouched in deep shadow, against a brick backing, looking out over

an expansive roof with many hiding places.

Hearing the sound of a car starting, he looks down to the driveway and sees Bertani

helping one of the serving maids into the back seat of his car. He gets in and the car

pulls away. The rest of his helpers make their way toward the truck, climb in, and the

truck pulls off.

Clark is puzzled at Bertani's departure. The lights go out in the main entrance hall of the

villa, leaving just moonlight. Out of the shadows, a black cat appears and starts to

ascend the broad staircase to the second floor. It is briefly bathed in moonlight, and then

disappears into the shadows again at the top of the stairs.

He makes his way down the slope of the roof. He stops and is suddenly alert, listening

and watching along the roof. He sees a dormer window a few yards away slowly squeak

open. He quickly flattens himself on the shadowed side of the roof and peers over the

top, his eyes just showing.

A dark-clad figure in sweater and slacks, immediately moves from the moonlight into the

shadows by the dormer window. It moves cautiously along the roof top in his direction.

Kent watches from the shadows as the dark figure, now silhouetted against the sky,

moves closer. It comes nearer and nearer !and suddenly stops, as though sensing

something. It turns and starts to move away as quickly as the steep angle will allow.

As Kent quickly moves after the retreating figure his foot dislodges a slate from the roof.

Kent is gaining on the figure, but the slate skitters noisily down the roof and hits the court

yard below with a shattering crash.

Below, Lepic is about to get in his car when the slate smashes into the courtyard titles a

few feet from him. As he looks up at the roof other police officers have understood the

source of the sound and are running toward their assignments.

Lana and Hughson spring to the window and look out, finding the police scattering in

many directions.

Kent closes in on the dark-clad figure, and is just about to grab it when more tiles are

kicked loose by the chase. They clatter to the courtyard below.

Police turn on flood lights to illuminate the rooftop.

Kent has grabbed the figure and is wrestling with it, fighting for control, trying to tear off

the figures' face mask. Just below them window lights are being turned on as guests

hear the police and others yelling, and look out. .

The dark figure is twisting and fighting to keep the mask out of Kent's grasp. Kent

tears the mask off and sees Loilan. Her hair falls down from underneath the black beret

she's wearing. She looks up at him, caught, but defiant.

Loilan breathes heavily as she says, "You think you've caught The Cat?"

"I caught you the night your father died. He couldn't climb anything—and you always did

his leg work during the war. You had to be somewhere in this scheme."

"What a mistake!, she starts yelling, "Clark Kent–ici! Clark Kent, Le Chat! I've got him!

Ici! Here! Clark Kent!

Suddenly they are flooded in white light from many searchlights below. When Kent turns

in surprise Loilan immediately takes advantage and twists away, ducking into the

shadows. When the police focus light on the roof line Loilan is no longer in view, only

Kent is standing in the light.

Lana turns quickly from the window and runs to the door, followed by Hughson. They

pass the sleeping figure of Nell, who is snoring with open mouth.

Kent looks about him desperately while still bathed in the floodlights. He dashes over

and crouches behind the shadows of a tall chimney.

Frantically scanning the length of the roof top he sees no sign of Loilan.

A booming voice comes up from below. "Come down, Kent, or we will be forced to

shoot!" Lepic yells.

As Kent looks intently for Loilan he pays no attention to the threat. He crouches low,

quickly running out of sight to those below.

The courtyard is filling rapidly with excited guests who are pointing to the roof. The

searchlights trawl the roof in pursuit of Kent. Bright spurts of yellow-orange flame

suddenly appear below, and almost before the sound of gunfire reaches the roof, bullets

begin rattling off the roof and chimneys. Kent reaches the protective shadowed brick of

another group of dark chimneys and the firing stops.

Below, Lana and Hughson run into the courtyard.

Breathing hard, Kent grimly scans the roof again for sight of Loilan.

At the back of the villa, Loilan is hanging from the rain trough of the roof, swinging by her

black-gloved hands along the roof edge. There is a sheer drop below. The black bag of

jewelry is around one of her wrists. She is approaching the end of one wing of the

building. Unable to go farther, she is forced to pull herself back up on the slant of the

roof.

Lana, almost frantic with fear, plows into the group of police, pushing and shoving

startled policemen on her way to Lepic. His eyes remain on the rooftop, as do the eyes

of the police near him.

Lana yells," Put those guns down! He isn't The Cat!"

Lepic glances at her, then looks back up, "Then what does he do on the top of that

roof?"

"Your job! That's what he's doing!" She says, inches from his face.

Lepic steps back, dismayed at her intensity, "Madame, I can only believe what my eyes

show me."

"You shoot him, and I'll—",she says ferociously

Lepic interrupts, shouting over her, "Clark Kent is exactly where I knew he would be

some day!" He quickly yells to one of the other policemen in French, "Get this hell cat

away from here!"

The policeman grabs a struggling Lana, and tries to pull her away, she resists, too

choked with anger to talk. Another officer is needed to pull her fierce form away from

Lepic.

Crouched in the shadows of the chimney, Kent sees Loilan climbing the corner of the

roof, ,although she is not exposed by the searchlights. With a quick glance below, he

decides to risk it and go after her. As he moves forward two shots ring out.

Lepic, the policemen and Lana, being held by two policemen, look up in horror, as

another shot is fired.

Lepic, suddenly sees something on the roof, shouts to his men, "Hold it! Hold your fire!"

He commands.

Kent is advancing across the roof toward Loilan. She is retreating, exposed by the

searchlights which play on her, reaching the edge of the roof. She sees there is a wide

gap between where she is standing and the other section of roof. Loilan hesitates,

seeing the distance to jump is too great. She looks down and then back to Kent coming

towards her.

Loilan, now thoroughly scared, turns from Kent and looks across to the other section of

roof beyond. The jump looks all but impossible. With a desperate look at Kent, she

hurtles forward, hitting the sloping roof. For a second she seems to have secured a hold,

but then starts slipping toward the edge of the roof. She lets out a frightened scream,

echoed by screams and shouts from the onlookers below, as she slips over the side of

the roof, dangling above the tremendous drop to the street. She is holding the rain gutter

with one hand, and trying to shake the bag of jewelry loose from her other wrist.

Kent momentarily hesitates and then leaps across, landing on the sloping roof beside

Loilan.

He gets the best foothold he can and reaches down for Loilan's hand, which is

beginning to slip from the edge of the rain trough. There is utter silence from the

onlookers below.

Kent's hand grabs hold of Loilan's wrist. Her hand twists, holds his wrist. The bag of

jewels drops from her other hand. They hear it land below with a clatter on the

courtyard, the jewels scattering from the broken bag in a wide circle.

Kent sees that Loilan has intense fear written on her face as she looks at him.

"Pull me up!" she pleads.

He says calmly, "I'm trying to think of a reason why I should. "

"Now…pull me up!" she says loudly.

"Don't shout. It makes me nervous. I might drop you."

Daring him, she says, "Go ahead—drop me!"

He lowers his arm slightly. "Whatever you say." Greater fright passes over Loilan's face.

She quickly shouts, "No! No!"

His grip tightens and holds. "You've got a full house down there, Loilan. Now begin the

performance?"

"What performance?" she gasps.

"The one in which you tell them who is really who—and what is really what."

"Please, Clark—I might slip!"

"I figure I can hold you another thirty seconds. No more."

Loilan says desperately, "I did it for my father!"

"That's fine...but I already know it. We're telling them— down there—remember?"

Loilan looks down and the sight frightens her even more. She looks up again.

She spits, "I'll kill you when I get up there."

"If you get up here. Tell them!"

She gives him a look of hatred, then shouts down, "I was working for my father!" She

quickly looks up at him, "Now, please—"

"Your father is conveniently dead. Who else?"

Loilan shout down to the courtyard, "And Claude, too!" Shooting a look at Kent she says,

"That's all."

"I'm out of training. I think my fingers are beginning to open."

"I don't know anything more!"

He says patiently, as though they had all the time in the world. "Now why protect him?

He's probably keeping all the jewels himself. Who was behind it—who engineered

everything—who sent me the "weather reports"—who knew as much about me as I

knew myself. Go on."

After a slight hesitation she yells, "Augustus Bertani was behind it!" Looking at Kent she

says, "Now, you miserable basta— "

"You left out one important thing. —"

"I know nothing more. You're frightening me to death!

"You'll, probably think of it—just before you hit the ground. I'm getting a cramp in my

arm." He lowers her slightly as her eyes go wide in fright.

She looks down, closing her eyes and shouts, "Clark Kent had nothing to do with it!

Nothing! Now, please—please pull me up! I'll die— "

Slowly, with little seeming effort he pulls her up to the roof. It is apparent that he could

have held her a lot longer. She freezes against the tiles, sobbing with relief and

shock. Kent leans back against the roof and takes a deep breath of the night air.

Standing casually in the main entrance hall of the Sanford villa are Lepic, Mercier,

Loilan, Bertani and Hughson. Kent, Lana and Nell cross the hallway on their way to the

door. They pause when Lepic speaks to Bertani.

Lepic, says, in an unusually friendly way, "Well, I think we have discussed all the details.

Is anything not clear to you, Monsieur Bertani?"

Bertani shrugs pleasantly, "No—but one little request."

"Yes?"

"That I come to the police station at twelve tomorrow, instead of ten." Bertani asks.

Lepic smiles, "Ten, please. Be on time."

"But I must find somebody to manage my restaurant. I may be away a long time, eh?

Lepic shrugs, "A private matter—between you and the judge."

Smiling Bertani asks, "Twelve o'clock, then?"

Smiling back at him Lepic pleasantly responds, "Ten. And bring a lawyer, if you desire."

"No thank you." He turns and bows slightly to the group. "Bonne nuit, mesdames et

messieurs. "

They nod silently in, return to him.

Bertani says to Kent, "I regret having given you such trouble, Monsieur Kent."

"Well, Bertani—had it ended differently, I might have been a little put out. As it is, I have

no personal complaints."

"You'll eat at my restaurant again?" He asks eagerly.

"The very day you get out."

"Ah...we'll have a great feast!"

"Hurry back." Clark says.

Bertani smiles at him, turns to go, and remembers something, "Oh —Monsieur Lepic,

pardon—Loilan Foussard. May I bring her with me at ten?"

"Unfortunately, no. She comes with us tonight."

Bertani shrugs, "If you must. Bonne nuit." He turns and walks across the hallway and out

of the door.

Kent turns to Lana and Nell and says, "I think we had better say "Good Night"

ourselves."

Lana isn't listening to him. She seems to be staring at Loilan with a look that is a cross

between sympathy and wonder. Kent follows her glance to Loilan.

Loilan nonchalantly yawns, "I'd like to get some sleep."

"I'm afraid that your next bed will be a hard one." Lepic says.

"I don't mind. I've slept on prison beds before."

Puzzled, Kent asks her, "When were you ever in prison, Loilan?"

She stops and looks directly at him. "I was born in jail."

Kent and Lana look at each other, not too happily. Nell shakes her head and starts

moving for the door.

Kent says to Loilan, "Goodnight."

Loilan smiles at him, then quickly walks up to him and impulsively kisses him. "Well, no

South America."

He says, "Guess not." They separate and Kent takes Lana's arm, and follows Nell out of

the hallway.

As they come down the steps of the villa they are met by La Mule and a couple of the

chefs from Bertani's restaurant. As the men rush up to Kent he prepares for some rough

business, as they surprise him by embracing him, vigorously shaking his hand and

punch him affectionately.

" Ah, Monsieur Kent! " La Mule says gratefully, a big smile on his face.

One of the Chefs says, "We are ashamed to have so badly judged you. We ask you to

excuse us."

Kent shakes hands and smiles happily at the group,

Nell says to Lana and Clark," We should probably get out of here…we've had enough of

these cat and mouse games?"

Clark smiles at her as they walk out of the villa. They are escorted to police

headquarters for a debriefing.

Later that evening Clark is driving a red convertible at high speed on the mountain

highway. His car is being pursued by a black sedan, which he sees distantly in his rear

view mirror, but ignores.

He reaches his villa first, parking the car in the front driveway. He enters the patio and

walks over to the low wall beyond which lies the hills and valleys of St. Gennet. He is

disturbed that the police have not yet finished with him, despite an hours' worth of

interrogation. He hears someone coming into the patio from around the house. He turns,

and looks around uncertainly.

Lana stands, watching him briefly. She isn't smiling, but seems composed. As she walks

toward him Noir runs in front of her causing Lana to stop and look down at the cat. Noir

slowly rubs its fur along Lana's calf, while deeply purring.

"Noir never greets anyone that way." Clark says.

"Clearly someone in this house knows what they want, " she replys.

Kent is surprised to see her. "Who brought you up here?" he asks.

As she approaches him, Lana says, "The police. And we'd have caught you, if this

costume hadn't gotten all over the gear shift and the door." She stands next to him,

looking out over the valley.

"But it was only twenty minutes ago at the police station that I said goodbye!"

"As quickly as you could." She says.

"Didn't I thank you? He asks"

"Politely."

"Then what—um—?

She turns to him. "Clark—you left in such a hurry you almost ran."

"I had things to do up here."

"Were you afraid I'd make you admit that without me you couldn't have saved yourself?"

He doesn't answer as his eyes search hers.

"That you needed the help of a "good woman? That you're not the lone wolf you think

you are?" She says, stepping close to him, her eyes never leaving his.

Kent bows his head in a gesture of gracious admission. "Yes—without you I couldn't

have done it." He begins to see the humor in his situation. "I needed the help of a

woman." He gives in.

Lana says, pleased, "I just wanted to hear you say it. Thank you, and goodbye."

She turns, and starts to leave. But, he quickly reaches out, takes her by the arm, and

turns her around. She looks at him questioningly as he pulls her close to him, and kisses

her unresisting lips. The kiss is passionate, intense–but one more of love than sex.

"Clark, I know you don't say things you don't mean…when it comes to feelings, "she

says hesitantly.

Leaning back from their embrace he says, "Yes…?" Then he slowly shakes his head and

says, "Do you know what you're getting into…with this,? "gesturing between them.

_The bravest thing I will ever do is to find the courage to make this leap of faith…_

"Yes…I love you, do you feel the same about me?" She asks, her eyes searching his.

_I feel my life trembling in the balance, waiting for his answer…_

"I guess I'm not the lone wolf I thought I was." Now, smiling at her he says, "since I've

found you, Lana, my love mate."

_The last time I felt this way…I had nearly given up all hope of survival – and then was _

_rescued. That's what I feel now – saved._

Then he buries his face in her shoulder. She looks up, with a shining and happy face.

Her eyes are misty, but she manages a lightness to her voice as she says:

"So this is where you live?—I think I'm going to like it."


	13. Epilogue

To Catch A Thief : Epilogue

**What happened after the movie ended. **

It was a beautiful spring day six years, two hundred and seventy one days after Clark and

Lana exchanged their fateful kiss. The kiss that carried them into their shared future,

stronger together than they had ever been alone.

But Clark wasn't thinking about that day now. He was more concerned that his son, Cal

and daughter Emma were about to get into serious trouble with their mother.

"Clark, where are your children? Lana said, with the usual designation of him as parent

when they misbehaved.

"Our children, "he said, gently correcting her, "are exploring uncharted territory on the

villa grounds."

"They're not digging in the garden again, are they. "Lana asked.

"Something less ambitious, I'm sure "Clark said reassuringly.

As she stood on the front steps, wearing the slightest of frowns, he saw a light breeze

move one of thewayward strands of her hair alongside her ear. Her light summer dress

clung to her figure, now graced with a few more pounds more than when they first met.

This change only served to emphasize her womanly hips and fuller, but still pert bosom.

He felt a rush of love for her, this woman who made him whole by sharing her life with

him.

"Exploring what…?" She asked, bringing him back to the present, standing a few inches

from him. She looked up, her expression serious, her index finger poking his chest.

"Yes, trying new things, new challenges, "he said, grasping her pointed finger within his

hand, bringing it to his lips, beginning a small nibble.

"Don't sweet talk me…at least not right before guests are arriving for the birthday party."

Her eye lids were lowered, lips parted, as she peered at him expectantly.

He did not respond, instead he trailed his finger tips along her bare arm, his other hand

lightly clasped her small waist.

"umm…Clark, what are you doing…"Lana said, her voice lazy, the edge gone.

"Lavishing the attention on my lovely wife that she deserves." He smiled.

"For what…do I deserve…this…lavish, "as she rolled the word sensuously off her

tongue her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck.

"…for being…you." said as he brought his lips to hers.

Lana stood on her tiptoes, her arms laced around his neck, and leaned hard into him, as

she felt his arousal match hers.

"What do you have to do to get a drink around here**, **"Nell said loudly, not having noticed

the intense embrace of her niece and husband. She walked toward them, with two cloth

bags full of gift packages.

Lana reluctantly pulled away from Clark, showing her delight at Nell's arrival. She

quickly turned back to him, smiling as she planted a quick kiss on his lips, "Hold my

place for me sweetheart."

He laughed as she ran to Nell, pulling her aunt into a fierce hug.

"Nell, I'm so glad you made it in time, " Lana gasped after they had both exchanged

cheek kisses. "Thanks for cutting short your tour of England."

"No way was I going to miss the sixth birthdays of my grand niece and nephew." Nell

said, smiling, "and where are the twin angels?"

"Clark said they are 'exploring', which I'm reluctant to ask more about." Lana said as she

was helping Nell put her birthday packages on the picnic table festively arranged with

plates, cups and party favors.

"Lana dear, that's all well and good, but when do I get to see the little archeologists?

"Nell complained. "Are they still digging their way to Egypt?"

"Why don't I see if I can round them up before we have birthday cake, "Clark said, as he

smiled and walked briskly off toward the gardens to find the children.

"So, Lana, how are you two these days? "Nell asked, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

Lana looked toward the driveway, where a neighbor and her children had arrived. She

turned toward Nell and asked. " Auntie, how good do you think a life should be?"

Nell responded without hesitation. "As good as you can make it,"

"That's how good it is for us, "Lana said as she saw Harry Hughson's car pull into the

circular drive.

She and Nell walked over to his sedan to greet him. He had gotten out, with a quick

wave, and pulled gaily wrapped packages from his trunk, stacking them along side the

bumper.

"Harry, what have you brought today to spoil my two rascals, "Lana said, as she laughed.

"Lana, dear girl, how are you, "he offered a quick bow as he kissed her hand, "You're

looking lovelier than ever."

"Ok, now I know you must want something if you're buttering me up, "Lana said, with a

quick hug.

"Yes indeed, I want to see my god children some time today."

Nell and Harry exchanged hugs and kisses in recognition of his role, these last 6 years, as

the godfather of her niece and nephew.

Just then Cal and Emma rounded the corner of the house, running at full speed toward

their mother, with Clark in slow pursuit. He had let them get far enough ahead so they

would reach Lana before he could catch them.

"Mommy, mommy…daddy interrupted our exploration, "Emma yelled

Cal had quickly added his agreement. "We had 'portant business to attend to…"

"Climbing that big tree is something you should only do when mommy or daddy are

there to help" Clark cautioned, although he had admired the team work they had shown in

scaling the tree to a height that would have frightened their mother.

"Aunt Nell, "Cal said, as he had lost interest in his complaint once he spotted her. He ran

to her, followed by Emma. Both collided with her, nearly taking her off her feet.

"My little darlings, "Nell said as she knelt in front of them, she pulled them into a hug,

one on each side of her face.

As Nell fussed over the children Harry shook Clark's hand, and clapped him on the back

by way of greeting. "How are you, Clark? You certainly look well."

"I'm good, thank you. Children seem to either rapidly age a person or keep you young. In

my case I think I'm fast approaching my teenage years. Clark said, smiling. "And, how

are you and Felicity?"

"Couldn't be better - and she is particularly happy that I'm doing a bit of travel." He

winked as he stepped closer. When the two of them had moved a small distance away

from the family, he added in a lower voice," Did you hear that Loilan was released about

four weeks ago?"

"Yes, one of Bertani's kitchen boys told me when I was at the market."

"I'll bet you he didn't tell you that she left for South America with the warden's son…?"

"Hmm…no, I hadn't heard." Clark said, mildly surprised.

"He may have been responsible for her sentence being reduced by two years, for 'good

behavior', or some such nonsense."

Clark said. "She always had a way of getting out of tight spots."

"Speaking of sentences, Bertani will be released later this year," Harry continued,

"although, I've heard he's been running the restaurant, and perhaps other activities of a

less legal nature, from his cell."

"Some things never change."

"But, I know you must be pleased that Lepic and that lot are on good terms with you

now, "Harry said.

"Yes, he and Mercier come to the villa every few weeks for a game of cards, a few

drinks, and, I suspect to look me in the eye to see if I'm up to anything." Clark laughed at

the thought of Lepic's unrelenting suspicions. "I remember the last time he was here. We

had been at the cards for a couple of hours, Cal playing with his toys at our feet. When

we had an early break – and Lepic left to keep an appointment - Cal asked me if 'that was

the man that thought he was smarter than I was.

"What did you say to Cal?"

"Never underestimate your adversary."

"Hmm…interesting fatherly advice, "Harry said, as he laughed.

Clark noticed that Lana had guided some of the guests toward the picnic table in

preparation for the birthday celebrations.

"Harry, we should join the others for some cake and present openings." Clark said.

"Let me just grab my bag of goodies for the children."

A group of nearly 25 children was seated at the pushed together picnic tables, with as

many adults standing around the tables, smiling at the children's animated faces.

Germaine and her helper brought out two large cake trays, already ablaze with the

required number of candles, and one extra for each child's good luck.

There was much amused murmuring as Cal and Emma took turns blowing out the candles

on their respective cakes, quickly followed by a hurried distribution of the pastry to the

hungry children.

With the dishes and sad remnants of the cake cleared the table played host to stacks of

gifts, in gaily colored wrappings.

There was the usual assortment of welcome baseballs and gloves and board games for

Cal, while Emma received an array of dolls and doll house accoutrements.

There were two gifts that drew no particular notice from the gathering but were seen with

amusement by Lana and Clark.

Cal received from Nell a Zorro costume, complete with black pants, shirt, hat, cap and

mask.

Nell glanced innocently at Cal's parents, as though she had no idea of the significance of

the gift.

Emma was opening one of her last presents when she found, from Harry, a beautifully

illustrated book of champion race car drivers. The inscription read. 'May you have many

more happy birthdays as you learn to drive as well as your mother. Love, Uncle Harry'

Soon after the discarded wrapping paper had been collected Germaine, their housekeeper, dashed

out the front door. "Monsieur Clark, Madam Lana, you must see something…" She stopped in

front of them.

"What's all the fuss, Germaine, "Clark asked, as Lana showed a knowing smile.

He saw her expression and asked. "Ok, am I the only one in this household that doesn't know?"

"Come…I will show…"Germaine said, as she gestured to Nell, Harry and the family. They all

trooped around to the garage, where the doors were partially open, which kept much of the day's

sun from entering the interior. Lana stood next to Clark, their arms around each others' waist.

The group gathered in front of the garage entrance, with the twins standing in front. They saw

that Noir was sitting proudly, as though on guard, in front of a shallow box. Inside the box were

many, small dark shapes. The kittens, making tiny mewling sounds, all moved towards their

mother.

"Noir is a pappa…"Clark said, pleasantly surprised. "…what a wonderful birthday present for us

all. Although, I would have thought him a bit too old for…"

"Clark…um…" Lana said her eyes indicating the children.

"Yes…right…a story for another time." Said Clark agreeably. .

"You see! It's never too late to teach an old cat new tricks." Nell said, and she looked at them -

all joining in the laughter.

Listening to their children happily playing, family and friends enjoying their time together, Lana

and Clark wrapped their arms around each other. Without feeling the need for words their

embrace communicated a love that had grown stronger every day.

Fin

If you haven't commented to this point now would be the time.

Thanks for reading.


End file.
